Magpies
by fine-feathered
Summary: Castiel is a small town priest with a mysterious past. One ill-fated evening he prays for an end to his loneliness. He's heard, but not by Heaven. Dean Winchester is a demon from Hell and he hails the call. But not everything is as it seems.  M-gore&porn
1. One for Sorrow

_**One for sorrow**_

He lit the row of white candles. Each flame a little flickering tongue of light that warmed the grey stones with hues of soft reds and yellows.

Blowing out the match the priest turned to face his altar. Lovingly he trailed his fingers over it before falling to his knees. He lowered his head, hands clasped in prayer and lips silently moving.

He prayed for many things. He prayed for Holly Lynch to beat cancer, he prayed that Jim Watkins didn't drink before driving tonight and at the end of his prayers he made one for himself. Sucking in a breath of the cool Autumn air; laden with the smell of wood he prayed that he would find someone, or alternatively they would find him. More than anything he wanted a friend, nothing more. Just someone who would see past the tab of white guarding his neck and the neat black garments he wore on a daily basis.

Looking up at the stained glass window behind the altar the priest sighed. The prayer for himself wasn't all that important but it never hurt to try. Or so he tried to tell himself.

Standing, he walked away from the altar, heading to the back of the church where his neat bedroom and cold bed awaited him.

As he undressed and climbed into his bed he reminded himself that his Faith would not go unrewarded. Good things do happen, God was just busy and didn't have time for such a menial prayer.

As he slept that night the priest didn't realise it but his prayer was heard loud and clear. The undercurrents of desperation and the festering pit of loneliness in the priest rang out like a gong.

Hell had listened and it intended to answer the prayers of a devout man.

Below, way down below, a demon rose to the challenge. He put down his scalpel on the bloody wooden workbench and smiled. It had been a long time since he had felt the gentle heat of the sun on his face. Hell burned cold like frostbite after all.

The demon's bare feet padded through crimson pools of blood. He committed to memory the jealous screams that batted on his back as he walked up the black and crumbled steps that led up to the iron door. The guardsman nodded and wished him luck before he swung the door open and let the demon step onto Earth.

A little church stood before the demon. It was old and quaint, picturesque even. It was made of granite slabs and a pointed oak roof. Bordering the edges were green copper drains and pipes that dripped with the rain that had just passed over.

The demon looked down at his feet, watching as the blood began to flake and wash away in the rain puddle he stood in. He was barely dressed, with no shoes and only a ragged cloth around his waist.

A smirk tugged at his lips. It would be indecent of him to visit a house of God dressed as he was; stained by the blood of sinners and practically naked.

Stalking off into the night he scoured the small town of a bar, looking for easy drunken victims. He would snap his victim's neck in one fluid motion; would feel the bones and nerves tear and splinter. After all he couldn't get bloody this early in the game.

He had no illusions. This was all just a game. A game he always won.

Dean Winchester was a demon that didn't like losing.

0…0…0…0

The parishioners filed in, all of them in their neat Sunday suits and dresses.

Castiel stood at the arched entrance to his little church, smiling benignly and shaking hands with the few who reached out for him. The sun shone overhead, hazy rays breaking through the dissipating rain clouds from last night.

He had a feeling that today was going to be a good day.

Everyone had milled in and easy conversation and soft laughter filtered outside, which added to Castiel's smile.

As he turned to walk back into the church he paused, the corner of his eye catching a figure watching him.

The tall man stood on the opposite side of the road in front of Missouri's diner, the wind chimes by the door trilled as a breeze rose up. The man stared at him, with his hands tucked away in worn denim jeans whilst wearing a russet leather coat.

Castiel found himself walking over to the man before he realised it. Castiel crossed over the road and stood in front of the man, the pleasant smile still firmly in place. "Are you alright? Are you lost?"

It was a small town and as the town's priest you got to know everyone. Weddings, funerals, baptisms, and confessions you name it. This green-eyed man was most assuredly a stranger.

The man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shrugged nonchalantly. "I ain't lost" he replied, the irony of which wasn't lost on Dean.

Nodding, Castiel began to turn away but stopped himself, turning around to talk to the stranger again.

"My name's Castiel, I'm the priest here and Sunday mass is about to start, would you like to come in….Despite the sun it's a little bit chilly out here…don't you think?" The words came out in an awkward tumble and Castiel berated himself internally.

Dean let out a short and sharp bark of laugher. "It's been a long time since I've been to church preacher, maybe another time."

After all he wasn't about to sit through a service and endure agony each time Jesus and his mystery gang were mentioned. Hell's orders were important but he'd lay off the masochism for a while.

Admitting defeat Castiel stepped off the curb and into a shallow puddle, "well I'd love to see you at a service if you plan on staying in Wayfare long…I didn't catch your name?"

"Dean."

Gesturing to the diner behind Dean, Castiel continued, "Missouri does a great apricot pie Dean, you should try some."

With that Castiel walked away and disappeared into his warmly lit church.

Pivoting on his heel, Dean pushed open the glass door of the diner and headed towards the counter, salivating with the thought of some decent food.

Fishing the wallet out of his stolen jeans Dean flicked it open, thumbing his way past Jim Watkins' driving license and a few receipts until he found a creased $20 bill.

"Slice of pie and a cup of coffee."

0…0…0…0

Dean sat in the diner, empty plate in front of him. Just a few soft crumbs of pastry were all that remained of his pie. Castiel was right, Missouri did do a good slice of pie.

He sat by himself, watching people mill by all day, the sun sinking below the church as the clock in the diner ticked a tattoo to evening.

Missouri came by, dressed in a floral top and loose black pants, daffodil yellow apron wrapped around her waist. She looked down at him, coffee pot steaming in her hands.

"What're you still doing here all by yourself boy?"

Dean looked up, a grin on his face. "Just waiting darling, but I'll be gone soon."

Missouri shrugged and topped up Dean's cup, putting her hand on the table as she did. "You just be careful, y'hear me boy. Don't go causin' any trouble. I can see trouble written all over your face."

Throwing the rest of the scalding coffee down his throat Dean wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist, relishing the burn. "See ya later, thanks for the pie and coffee."

Striding out of the shop Dean squinted as he stepped into the dark night, a single streetlight flickered, sending eerie and sporadic shadows over the church.

Slinking across the road Dean reached the wooden doors of the church. The doors were rough and old, the splinters pricked and dug into his sensitive fingertips.

Pushing open the doors Dean walked down the aisle, eyes running over the dark wooden seats and little red prayer books. Flames flickered at his passage, leaning away from the demonic presence.

Castiel was at the altar, cleaning the pewter candelabra with a stained white cloth. The priest glanced up, eyebrows quirking with surprise. "Ah, Dean, there's no more services today I'm afraid, you'll have to come back tomorrow."

Dean shrugged his shoulders and shot a rueful smirk at Castiel. "I was wondering if you had time for one confession padre, before you hit the sack."

Castiel playfully sighed and shook his head, "I've got the time Dean." Castiel motioned to the confessional booth and followed Dean over.

Dean stepped in first, seemingly eager to be rid of the guilt weighing down on his shoulders.

Castiel followed suit, seating himself in the opposite side. A single candelabra outside the confessional shed a scant light into the private area, making the man seated opposite him seem menacing and sinister in the deep gloom.

Shaking away the feeling Castiel bowed his head and licked his dry lips. "What is the nature of your sin?"

He heard Dean shift, brown leather jacket creaking like old wood. "Mortal," he admitted, voice quiet and reserved.

Castiel glanced up, eyes wide with the confession. "God can forgive any sin my child but murder is grave, but if your heart is-"

"I'm not finished" Dean cut in. Castiel waited, his gut twisting anxiously inside of him. Never had he met a murderer in his confessional before, what more could there be for this one man to confess? The sense of dread clawed inside of him as he heard Dean open his mouth across from him. "I've tortured and raped too padre. I can't say I didn't enjoy it. I really, really did."

Castiel's tongue felt swollen in his mouth he couldn't utter a word.

Dean waited for Castiel's response, the first subtle hint of a smile stretching over his lips. "Oh, one more thing, I don't tip my waiters either. Bad I know but I just can't afford to tip every time I eat Father."

Castiel felt anger bubbling inside of him at that, "so this is all a joke then Dean, do you think this is funny? I accept we can't all have faith but there's no need for a prank like this."

Dean slammed a hand against the latticework dividing the confessional, the sharp bang drawing Castiel's attention back to him. "This ain't no joke."

Dean's fingers splayed across the wood, fingertips digging through the intricate pattern. Smoke began to furl from the wood, bright red embers dripping from the screen.

Scrambling out, Castiel clutched at the crucifix hanging from his neck, fingers digging into the cool silver. Heat stamped his flesh and sapped the moisture from his skin, he could feel his skin cracking and blistering, blood oozing from the wounds as heat radiated from the growing fire.

More and more smoke filled the confessional until a white blaze was licking up the stones of the church, spreading greasy black tar wherever the flames touched. Dean stepped out of the confessional, fire clinging to him like a second skin and pumice coloured smoke whirling from his mouth and fingertips.

Castiel stumbled backward, heart hammering in his chest. Ash blinded him and filled his throat, making him gag as he clutched at a pew for support. Swiping a hand across his eyes Castiel blinked away the ash and blood.

As his sight cleared he stopped in surprise.

Everything was as it was. The confessional was in one piece. The church was cool and murky. And Dean stood there with his back supported by the confessional and arms crossed over his chest. He wore a cocky grin at Castiel's bewildered and terrified expression.

"What…what was that?" Castiel murmured, fingers searching his face for ash and wet bloody splits.

Pushing himself off the polished wood Dean uncrossed his arms and took a few deliberate steps forward. Footfall, footfall; they echoed menacingly in the church, war drums leading the soldier.

"That was just a glimpse behind the curtain padre. It was very real but I'm surprised you saw it at all, not many people can perceive my true visage. Only certain people, special people, get that little peep show."

Castiel shook his head, fingers scrabbling at his dog collar to pry it loose as sweat beaded on his forehead, "I d-don't understand…"

"Yes you do father, I thought you were a religious man. The idea of Hell and demons shouldn't be that hard to accept."

Castiel stilled and closed his eyes, one hand still clutching his crucifix.

A sudden change came over the priest. He drew himself up, squared his shoulders and the shaking that had overcame him evaporated like a morning fog. A cold steel possessed his eyes and his lips thinned into a line.

It was Dean's turn to be surprised and the demon wouldn't admit it, but he was impressed. Dean had been hoping for the scent of ammonia and a mental break down. But this was far more intriguing.

"Then I have nothing to fear from you demon. This is a house of God, you can't harm me here."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, "maybe not today but I'll be back Cas. Can I call you Cas?"

Castiel glared, "christo."

Dean flinched, his eyes flashing black. "Alright, alright, I was going now anyway. See you tomorrow Cas."

Dean headed out of the church, waving a hand over his shoulder. As soon as the church doors slammed closed Castiel's knees finally crumbled, sending him to the pew behind him.

Castiel breathed deeply, the strength that had entered him earlier leaving him as suddenly as it came. His head felt foggy and disconnected, clouds separating his mind from his body. He inhaled deeply through his nose, smelling the must of old books.

A demon. A demon in his church, sitting in his confessional…and it had even claimed it would return.

He could only feel a hollow sort of sorrow as he was faced with an entity he didn't understand.

(A/N: The next chapter, which is already half done is going to be published in ten days. Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review. Obviously this is a slash story and will only get worse (read slashier) with further installments.)


	2. Two for Mirth

__Dean sat on a mildew soaked park bench, fiddling with an iPod he had scared some kid into giving him. Smirking at the memory Dean tapped at the blank screen, trying to figure out how the damn thing worked.

His mind drifted to the previous nights activities, the iPod falling to the peripheries of his concern. That priest, Cas, sent him a funny vibe he couldn't quite shake off, like superglue sticking to his fingertips. There was something off about him that was for sure.

He hadn't been kidding when he remarked about how unusual it was for people to see his true form. All that smoke and fire was usually safely tucked away. Maybe that was why Hell was interested in him. Was he psychic? A Nephilim?

The screen of the iPod flashed into life. A little sound of victory sounded from Dean as he then swiped his finger across the screen to unlock it. It was then an easy task to push the orange music button and pop an earphone into his ear.

For the first few hours of the morning the demon was content to catch up on the musical tastes of this generation's youth. He was happy to see a few classics that he remembered from his time as a human such as Led Zeppelin, but he also found a few new songs and groups that tickled his fancy. Metallica and Nine Inch Nails to name a few.

At least the snot nosed little brat he had mugged had some good taste in music. Dean almost felt bad. _Almost. _

Dean stood up, pocketing his new iPod as he walked down the gentle incline of the park trail. He soon emerged from the greenery onto the sleepy main street of Wayfare. A few people stood on the footpath, chatting and gesticulating with their hands as they waited to enter the church.

The church doors opened, revealing Castiel in his ridiculous little black and white outfit. Castiel ushered people in for the afternoon service, nothing amiss in his mannerisms to betray what he had been witness to last night.

Dean frowned. This was absurd. No one, and he meant no one, got away from Dean Winchester without at least gaining a couple of new mental disorders.

Schizophrenia.

Paranoia.

Multiple personality disorder.

Nervous breakdowns.

Hallucinations.

A martini and a straightjacket. Shaken not stirred.

He was the regular fucking James Bond of Hell, the game was afoot.

Clenching his fists Dean waltzed over to the church, fingernails biting into his skin, blood vessels popping and skin tearing under his fingernail's insistent pressure.

The church was cool and brightly lit when he stepped in. Flames danced down the aisles and the central passageway was adorned with cream strips of cloth hanging from the ends of pews.

Castiel was standing at the podium with head his down, blue eyes darting over his battered leather copy of the Old Testament.

Seating himself at the back of the church, Dean tried to make himself comfortable on the rock hard mahogany pew to little avail. A few of the older god fearing folk turned to steal a glance at the stranger seated behind them. They whispered to one another, asking who the odd young man was.

Dean watched this unfold with a barely restrained appetite to rip the old gossiper's tongues from the jaws with a pair of rusted forceps. In Hell he would then proceed to cook the gossiper's tongue in a pool of sulfur or acid, until the skin was blistered and blood was trickling from the bluish organ. He'd then feed it right back to them. Eating one's words was quite literal in Hell.

The sweet memories of the torture allowed Dean to sit back and wait for the service to start. Castiel cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the congregation; he was about to begin.

Castiel looked around, eyes alighting on familiar faces. Strangely Jim Watkins still wasn't here.

Licking the dryness from his lips Castiel began his sermon; he had chosen today to talk about the concept of Hell and the demons therein. To those gathered it would seem metaphorical.

Castiel crossed himself, watching the action being mirrored by all…except one. Castiel froze, air bottled in his suddenly tight chest.

Emerald eyes gazed cooly at him from the pew at the back of the church, the figure cocooned in the murk. The demon's plump lips stretched into a grin, reminiscent of a wolfs as it prepares to bite down on its prey's jugular.

Noticing the attention paid to him, Dean winked at Castiel whilst he smirked. His skin tingled with the joy of seeing Castiel struck dumb in front of his flock.

Castiel tried to remain calm, to ignore the terrifying demon lurking in the shadows of his church. He reminded himself of the fact that the demon had fled in the name of god uttered in Latin.

Gripping the sides of the wooden podium Castiel began a prayer in Latin.

_Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen._

Recoiling at the first few words uttered Dean hastily withdrew his iPod and put in the ear buds. Soon AC/DC's _Hell's Bells _were blasting in his eardrums, saving him from the rest of the prayer. Content, Dean kicked out his feet and laced his fingers over his belly, pleased with his plan. There was nothing Castiel could do to him in service if all he could hear were the sweet tunes of classic rock.

_You're only young but you're gonna die  
>I won't take no prisoners won't spare no lives<br>Nobody's putting up a fight_

The music was made all the more sweeter by the look of despair that swept over Castiel's features.

_I got my bell I'm gonna take you to hell  
>I'm gonna get ya, satan get ya<em>

0…0…0…

After the service was finished Castiel made his way into the changing room, slipping his vestments from his shoulders. It was a faint and useless hope, but he prayed that demon would simply leave the church.

As Castiel closed the wardrobe the door leading to the room creaked open, allowing Dean to slip into the tiny space.

Old candles and dusty pieces of candelabra littered the shelves on the opposite wall. A faint light hung above the two men. Castiel turned to look at the demon; a faint but appalling whiff of sulfur met his nose but was then snatched away again. Castiel wondered if he had imagined the smell, a shiver trembled down his spine.

"What do you want with me?" Castiel asked, brow corrugating with a nameless frustration.

Dean circled Castiel, eyeing him up and down. Dean worried his lip with his canine, a faint animalistic purr rumbled in his throat. "Don't get the wrong idea Cas, this is nothing personal. I just happen to be good at what I do."

Castiel swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced himself to meet with the black shine of Dean's eyes, "and what is it that you do?"

Dean stopped pacing, his head tilting to the side. "You had my confession didn't you? I torture souls in Hell mostly, but I also condemn souls. Drag people down to Hell so I can have my fun with them down in the Pit."

A shaky sigh of relief left Castiel, "I've committed no sin that would send me to Hell nor would I fall to any of your schemes. I'm free from your tortures."

Faster than a viper striking, Dean had a hand on Castiel's jaw, his fingers bruising the clean-shaven skin. "Not yet Cas, you haven't committed a sin _yet." _

Keeping his grip on the priest's jaw Dean ran his tongue over Castiel's cheek, stopping once his lips hovered over the shell of Castiel's ear. "You're going to lust over an abomination. I'm going to corrupt you, and by the time I'm done with you, you're going to beg me to damn your immortal soul to Hell."

Dean's lips were so close to Castiel's ear that at every word his soft lips brushed against Castiel's skin, transient little kisses that repulsed Castiel.

Castiel struggled against Dean's bruising grip, his hands on the demon's broad shoulders.

"Christo!" Castiel cried, desperate to be free.

Dean flinched, face turning away from the cry. The Latin resounded in his ears and seared his demonic soul with a white-hot brand.

Yet he held on, thrusting his hips into Castiel's, the friction burning a deep heat in his belly.

Gritting his teeth Castiel latched onto his crucifix once more, snapping the silver chain as he brought it to Dean's face. Smoke sizzled from the demon's flesh and after only a few seconds, which felt like a horrendous lifetime to Castiel, the demon relinquished its grip.

Dean stumbled backwards, bent double in pain as he gripped the side of his face. Fresh blood dripped to the floor in lurid red spots as he cradled the injury. Drawing his hand away Dean grimaced as he wiped his bloodied hand down his jeans.

"Now that wasn't very friendly Cas."

Castiel watched in horrid fascination as the skin on Dean's cheek knitted back together, blood clotting and scabbing over, soon replaced by unblemished skin and faint freckles.

Dean stepped forward, hands reaching like claws for Castiel. Heart thudding in his chest Castiel raised his crucifix, remnants of Dean's skin still hanging from the shining silver.

Dean swore in a language Castiel didn't understand but it brought bile to his tongue's palette. The demon's words shook the panes of glass in the small room, threatening to tumble out of the lead lining.

"Fine Cas. But I'll be back tonight, I don't scare that easy."

Dean once again fled the church leaving Castiel in anticipation.

0…0…0…

Castiel sat on the edge of his bed with his cheap little mobile phone resting in his palm. He would sound crazy. His dad wouldn't believe him, even though Bobby did have an open mind.

Even Castiel thought he sounded crazy, which was never a good sign to how it would sound to someone removed from the situation.

Fixing his jaw Castiel dialed Bobby's number, the mobile strangely heavy in his hands as he brought it to his ear. The tone trilled.

For a moment he hoped Bobby was out back repairing cars, until he heard the gruff "Singer Auto, how can I help?"

"Hey dad" Castiel sighed.

"Son," came Bobby's curt reply. They hardly spoke, only on holidays really. It made the relationship awkward but son and father still loved each other in their odd sort of way.

"I think I need help" Castiel began unhelpfully, "I just didn't know who to ask. Just…don't think I'm crazy.

Bobby was silent on the other end of the line, only the sound of Rumsfeld barking managed to filter through.

"I think…I think I've got a demon after me dad, in the most literal sense of the word."

Sighing, Bobby rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew this day was long coming.

0…0…0…

Castiel waited on the steps of his church, elbows on his knees and sweaty hands clasped together. Bobby had believed him. Castiel looked up into the dusk sky, the cold autumn air burning pleasantly in his throat and lungs.

He just hoped his old man could help.

Castiel hung his head, numbly staring at his polished dress shoes. He was pathetic, a priest was calling a semi-retired mechanic to hold his hand with a strangely religious problem.

The rumble of an old rusted engine broke the silence. Just down the street a red pick up truck trundled into view. The truck stopped inelegantly in front of the church, clutch screeching with age. Castiel stood on the stone steps, smiling faintly as the familiar figure of his father in his plaid shirt and battered cap emerged from the cab.

Shooting a lop sided grin at Castiel Bobby clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Good to see you son."

Castiel nodded and looked over Bobby's shoulder, noticing the large grey duffel bag in the back of the truck.

"What's in the bag?"

"Salt, shotguns, spray-paint."

A laugh broke from Castiel, "you can't be serious."

Bobby went to the truck and hefted the bag out, turning to throw the bag at Castiel, "serious as a heart attack boy."

Castiel shot a glance at his father, the duffel bag in his arms as he followed Bobby up the steps. "So what are we going to go with all of this exactly?"

Walking through the church Bobby made his way down into the basement, only pausing to flick the light on at the top of the stairs. "We're going to trap this demon of yours, and then we're going to exorcise it, which is where you'll come in handy."

Bobby reached the bottom of the stairs and indicated for Castiel to put the bag down on the floor.

Castiel was silent at first, watching Bobby lay salt in front of the door leading to the tombs under the church. After, Bobby flipped the stained old rug out of the way to draw what looked like a Solomon's seal, or a simplified version of it.

Castiel couldn't stay quiet any longer. "What's going on dad? How do you know about all of this?"

Bobby thinned his lips, beard eclipsing his mouth. He picked out two shotguns, handing one over to Castiel. "Cos this ain't my first rodeo son. I used to hunt demons before I got you…after what happened to my wife."

Castiel's gaze went from his father then to the shotgun in his hands. He was sick of being naïve, having the wool pulled over his eyes by both his father and a demon.

That strange surge of energy filled him again, calming him but tempering his calm with a cold dispassionate anger.

Bobby stilled, spying the change that came over Castiel. He said nothing, merely going over to the rug to flip it back onto the devil's trap. But Bobby felt the static in the air and his stomach flipped with anxiety.

0…0…0…

Castiel waited, never moving, whilst Bobby fidgeted, waiting for the demon to show.

Eventually Castiel moved, bright blue eyes flicking to the door leading to the basement. Dean stood at the top, a black silhouette with the church's lights outlining his figure. Bobby tried to slow his breathing. He picked up the tang of sulfur and felt dread looking up at the demon.

He turned to Castiel, his grip tightening on his shotgun.

Dean smiled, sauntering down the stairs. He looked between the two men. "You do realize bullets will do jack squat right?"

A glare darkened Castiel's features as he watched the demon descend. Only a few more inches and he would be in the trap…

Dean walked onto the rug, noting nothing amiss. But as soon as he stood in the centre he realized his mistake. Like a magnetic force he was kept in the concealed devil's trap. He felt his demonic power evaporate. His bones felt heavy, his skin constrictive as it leeched his strength. Dean hissed in frustration even as Bobby huffed out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Castiel approached the circle curiously grip loose on his shotgun.

There was an odd quiet in the room as both Bobby and Dean watched Castiel, his movements stiff and jerking as though he didn't belong in his body. "You're trapped."

Dean rolled his eyes, the words an anticlimax. "No shit, thanks for the news bulletin."

Castiel blinked and the spell seemed to be broken. Realising where he was Castiel took a step back from the circle, looking to Bobby for guidance.

The static and tang of ozone left the air.

Bobby swiped away a bead of sweat that had trickled down the side of his nose, the air humid and dank in the underground space.

"Let me out of here and I promise I won't gut the old man," Dean snarled, black flicking over his eyes.

Returning his attention to the demon Bobby approached the edge of the carpet. "What's your name. Full one mind you."

Dean snarled, wringing his hands in frustration. He could smell the salt in the air, only just noticing the line by the door to his left. "You're a Hunter?"

Nodding, Bobby hefted his shotgun, his meaning clear. "Answer the question or you'll be vomiting condiments 'till kingdom come."

Dean weighed up telling the man, stealing a glance at Castiel to see his reaction. He didn't want to seem weak by compromising.

Dean's sensitive hearing picked up the squeak of metal as the trigger began to be compressed.

"Alright, alright. Dean Winchester's my name"

Bobby's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Right in front of him was a story told to all young Hunters.

"Your whole family, and you in particular are legends in the business."

Dean smirked, rocking back on his heels. "Thanks old man."

Bobby huffed and smiled bitterly, eyes glinting in the shade of his baseball cap.

"Yeah, you're the poster boy for exactly the stupid shit you're not supposed to pull. Like selling your soul."

Dean's smile wavered, if Castiel hadn't been watching the fleeting moment would have been lost. "What the Hell would you know anyway?"

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest "I know why you did it Hellspawn. I sympathize with you, I do. But that don't change what you are now."

Castiel shot a confused glance in Bobby's direction, the enigma of Dean Winchester growing every minute.

Walking around the circle Bobby slipped his fingers into his back pocket, fishing out a yellowed piece of paper. Bobby gave the slip of old paper at Castiel.

"Let's exorcise this son of a bitch."

(A/N: Ok, next update will hopefully be up in just over a week. And yes, there will be smut. Lots. And for anyone wondering in this AU Dean died in 1980 as the AU is set in 'today'.)


	3. Three for a Wedding

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_

"You don't want to do that," Dean announced with a languorous smile.

Castiel paused, the next word on the tip of his tongue as he glanced up from the exorcism he was reading aloud.

Stepping to the edge of the carpet, where beneath it lay the devil's trap, Bobby asked "and why's that hellspawn?"

Rolling his eyes as if the answer were glaringly obvious Dean looked down the bridge of his nose at Bobby, "because if I get sent back down to the pit, it means I've failed with my assignment."

A bitter snap of laughter escaped Castiel, "I'm terribly sorry that you won't be getting employee of the month."

Dean shrugged noncommittally "fine, you don't want to hear me out, but don't complain about it later when you've got a pack of hellhounds chewing on your intestines after being subjected to scaphism*."

Bobby's glare deepened whilst Castiel gripped the exorcism with a growing sense of dread.

Taking their silence as permission to go on Dean continued, "demons are nothing if tenacious, they won't stop coming once they've got their mind set on something, no way. Once I'm out of the picture they'll start sending the demons that were never human to begin with. I'm not lying when I say you're cutting your losses by keeping me floating around."

Dean grinned, gums peeling back to reveal his white teeth, "you know I ain't lyin' grandpa."

Bobby lowered his shotgun, hope leeched out of him by Dean's words, "so this wasn't random then?"

Dean shook his head, grin splitting wider, "nope and that means Hell won't stop."

Castiel digested the words horror, a gnawing pit of cold anguish eating away at him from the inside. He was breathless as the green eyed monster stared at him with his Cheshire grin.

"Well then," Bobby began, "we won't be sending you downstairs after all, but Castiel will be safe so long as you're stuck down here in the devil's trap."

Dean's grin evaporated, a frustrated snarl curling his lips instead "don't you dare leave me down here. I'll break out sooner or later and when I do I'm going to be pissed."

Steeling himself, Castiel walked around the devil's trap, foot on the first step leading back into the church, "I'll take my chances."

Bobby and Castiel ascended that stairs, the angry shouts of the demon battering them as they left.

0…0…0…

Dean sat himself down on the moth eaten carpet. A headache pounded a tattoo against his skull as the devil's trap continued to bottle away his strength.

Resting his chin in the palm of his hand Dean stared absently. The fury from being imprisoned was finally giving way to abject resignation.

He was finally back on Earth. All that time spent in Hell, clamouring to reach the surface and he was too late. He didn't want to think about it, he had carefully built a wall around those feelings when he saw what year it was. 2012.

He was too late.

Time was hard to keep track of in Hell.

He was too late.

Those words kept repeating in his head, adding to his headache that was rapidly evolving into a migraine.

Pinching the bridge of his nose Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the crushing darkness of the church's basement. Within the devil's trap he was practically human and right now he was as blind as a newborn whelp.

Maybe that's why the walls he had constructed in Hell were falling. He had nearly forgotten what it was like being human, but being up here again with his powers stripped away it was all coming back.

Everything reminded Dean of _him. _

The salt line by the door, the pools of holy water on the floor above him, the smell of gun grease that pervaded the air. Even the rain brought back long buried images of _him, _with his freakishly long hair and infectious smile.

He missed him. It was like having a limb wrenched from him. The nerves were still raw and frayed and sometimes in those moments of déjà vu he thought for a bitter sweet moment that _he _was still with him. Phantom limb syndrome.

Dean was still catching up to the idea he would never see _him _again.

Sam was in Heaven and demons could never see Heaven.

Dean fought back the overwhelming tide of despair, tried to resurrect the walls he had built in Hell but this devil's trap was sapping his strength.

It was forcing him to _think, _to _remember, _to _feel_.

And he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Castiel was going to pay.

0…0…0…

The church bell rang out, rousing Dean from his stupor with its boom.

He felt strangely well rested. He must have fallen asleep. Rubbing the gravel from his eyes Dean stood up and stretched, flexing his muscles and extending it to his limited powers.

The rest had done him good. At the tips of his fingers he felt the familiar tingle of power. Closing his eyes Dean concentrated on breaking the stone floor to create a line. He felt the slabs of granite resisting; the rock was old and strong. Concentrating he found a small vein of weakness where water from a leak in a subterranean pipe had slowly eroded at the stone.

Sucking in a breath Dean gathered more power to himself, his skin thrummed with energy as the devil's trap awoke to his scheme. It burned at him, clawing away at his gathering power. But it was too late. With a grunt of exertion Dean released the power he had called and released it in one concentrated burst. A satisfying crack punctuated the darkness.

Suddenly, sensation flooded back to Dean. His eyes adjusted, revealing the basement to him. Sound came crashing back, he could hear a crowd of people moving above him; heels scraping on stone and voices filled with merriment.

Stepping out of the devil's trap Dean climbed up the stairs and opened the door, watching the surprised expressions of the well-dressed people filling the rows of pews.

White lilies spread their sweet perfume and soft piano music wove its way through the conversation. Several men stood at the base of the raised platform all in black tuxedos each with a white lily pinned to their breast.

It finally clicked; it was a wedding.

Dean watched as the groom shuffled nervously at the front, the man was tall with deep brown eyes. An image of Sam flickered before Dean's eyes.

Stifling the desire to mope Dean made his way to the back of the church, intent on leaving despite his earlier threats to tear Castiel limb from limb.

The music swelled, people hushed and sat themselves, stilling Dean's progress to the door.

The wooden doors swung open, revealing a slender young woman in a simple cream wedding dress. Curling locks of golden hair framed her face and fell to her shoulders in artfully sculpted undulations. Her eyes glittered as she saw her groom waiting for her.

Once again a ghost transposed itself on the woman's face, transforming the blushing bride into Jessica.

This was getting far too surreal.

The bride and her father began their walk down the aisle, forcing Dean to take an empty seat next to a vacant old man who smelled vaguely of laundry soap.

Dean hadn't planned on staying for the whole ordeal but he found himself sitting quietly on the pew. Dean simply sat and watched as the bride and groom exchanged their vows. Smiles were thrown about the church like confetti.

A strange sense of peace seemed to descend on the demon, unlike anything he had felt for the past dozen decades he had lived in the pit.

{}

It was nearing the end of the service before Castiel noticed Dean. Fear lanced him and rendered him mute as the lips of the bride and groom met.

However he soon realized Dean's attention wasn't on him.

Quirking a brow Castiel followed Dean's line of vision, discovering he was watching what everyone else was watching; the wedding.

Quelling the anxious fluttering in his belly, Castiel finished the service without a hitch, until finally he was left alone with Dean in the church.

Cautiously, Castiel approached the demon. Standing next to the pew Dean was seated at Castiel cleared his throat, nervous energy buzzing through his blood.

Raising his head Dean looked at Castiel and sighed, "I'm behaving padre."

Smiling ruefully Castiel walked down the pew and sat next to Dean. They sat there quietly, in a tense silence.

Castiel's mouth went dry as he berated himself over and over. This had to be one of his worst ideas. Sitting next to a demon that wanted to damn him to Hell or flay him for resisting. Yet Dean just turned his head to look at him curiously, eyebrows raised expectantly. The simple movement was so _human_.

With a dry click Castiel opened his mouth, tongue a heavy piece of lead.

Exhaling through his nostrils Dean felt his lips slip into a warm smile, the wedding had calmed him immensely. "Well this is awkward. Aren't you going to run away screaming or try and exorcise me again?"

Castiel's eyes shot to Dean's, eyes widening at the light jovial tone. It wasn't hostile or goading, it was…friendly.

Smiling Castiel shook his head, "no, not right now. But I thought you said you were going to strangle me with my own small intestines because I'd left you in the devil's trap. Bobby and I didn't think you'd break out in a few hours though."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, "what can I say? I'm a bad ass. And I'm not going to gut you quite yet Cas."

Castiel rolled his eyes and felt his tense muscles begin to relax in the tranquil atmosphere.

"So why'd you stay for the wedding?"

Dean leaned forward, taking hold of a little red hymnbook to thumb through whilst he thought of an answer. After a minute of hearing the leaves of paper whisper against each other Dean faced Castiel fully and decided to tell the priest the truth.

Castiel's ocean blue eyes looked back at him expectantly, free of the fear and terror that Dean usually saw.

It was different. Nice, even.

"'Cos the groom reminded me of my brother, Sam. And the bride funnily enough was the spitting image of his girlfriend Jessica."

Castiel nodded "and did they get married?"

Dean's lips thinned, a dark shadow passing over his features, "nope, Jessica died; a demon got her."

Castiel placed a hand on Dean's leg, jolting Dean out of the memories of dragging Sam from the raging flames. "I'm sorry Dean."

Dean sighed, trying to ignore the warm weight on his leg, "yeah well we killed that nasty son of a bitch at least."

Castiel's head jerked up in surprise, "you can kill a demon?"

Crossing his arms over his chest Dean glared down at Castiel, "yeah, you can, but don't go getting any ideas Cas, I'm not telling you how."

Castiel took his hand away from Dean's leg and clicked his fingers, "damn, and I was this close."

Dean stood and stretched, the sun's light was leaking away from the church in errant yellow lines, "yeah, nice try Cas."

Looking up at Dean Castiel watched as the fading daylight sent glimmers of gold into Dean's bright bottle green eyes.

"Well see you tomorrow Cas, I've got some drinking to do."

This was all getting a little too cosy for Dean's liking, some strong booze to warm his belly and fog his head was all the medicine he needed to get back on the game.

A frown tugged at Castiel's expression and an evanescent touch of guilt jabbed at Dean.

Castiel stood, aware of how close he was to the demon thanks to the small space between the pews. "I can't say I'm looking forward to you trying to damn my soul again tomorrow."

Beaming a genuine smile Dean reached down to grab a firm handful of Castiel's ass, "that's my boy."

Jumping back in shock Castiel glared at Dean, but couldn't quite work up the appropriate amount of distain in the expression.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Dean once again disappeared from the church, leaving Castiel to stand alone with the oppressive silence ringing in his ears.

0…0…0…

Soft fingertips traced the heated flesh of his thigh. Shivers cascaded down his back as he looked down into lidded eyes. Castiel's chest heaved with breath as he watched Dean's fingers move ever so closer to his straining erection.

Strangely it only just occurred to Castiel that they were both naked, but it didn't seem to matter.

A long moan left Castiel's parted lips as he felt Dean's fingers wrap themselves around his aching cock. Slowly, Dean began a gentle rhythm, his rosy lips falling to Castiel's hip to lick away the beads of sweat.

Castiel clenched the sheets as the tempo of Dean's hand sped up, adding to the furnace of heat gathering in his belly.

Dean's hand moved away from Castiel's cock, causing a frustrated growl to emerge from Castiel.

Lifting his head Castiel watched the taught muscles of Dean's back moving and the shift of his shoulder blades moving under his tanned skin. The bed creaked as Dean moved further up the bed toward Castiel. The demon bit his lip, the reddish hue of the flesh turning white with the pressure.

Leaning down, Dean swiped his tongue over the head of Castiel's cock, eliciting a wanton moan of pleasure from Castiel.

Toes curling, Castiel propped himself up on his elbows to watch Dean's ministrations.

Dean's wet tongue slipped down Castiel's cock, tasting the salt and heat emanating from the flesh. His tongue followed the engorged vein on the underside, all the way until he reached the neat black hairs at its base.

Panting, Castiel laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, fiery blue eyes silently urging for more. Dean took the cue, his plump lips parting around the head of Castiel's, taking the crown of into his burning hot mouth.

A long guttural sound tore itself from Castiel's throat, one hand still clenching Dean's shoulder with force enough to bruise, the other wrapped in the bed sheets.

Soon Castiel's cock was shining with Dean's saliva as the demon ran his mouth up and down Castiel's flesh, a purr vibrating his throat.

Clenching his eyes shut Castiel tried to fight off his inevitable orgasm. With a wet pop Dean raised his head, a hand gently cupping Castiel's cheek. "I want you watching."

Opening his eyes Castiel looked down at Dean, his own face held a pleasant flush and his lips were full and shined with spittle.

Assured Castiel was watching Dean went down on him again, tongue swirling around the cock, savouring the musk of Castiel's pre-cum.

Castiel felt pure bliss thrumming throughout his blood stream, his body was far too hot and Dean's tongue was like silk running over his engorged cock.

Dean angled his head, the tip of his tongue teasing over the slit of Castiel's cock. Dean hummed with appreciation, a hand moving to fondle Castiel's tightening balls.

With a cry Castiel came in long, agonizingly good spurts of cum that filled Dean's mouth.

Dean's eyes were latched onto Castiel's he never moved as Castiel's cum entered his mouth. Tiny pearlescent droplets escaped from the edges of Dean's mouth, only to leak in lines down Castiel's softening dick.

Dean's eyes narrowed with amusement. Swallowing Dean pulled away; a line of cum still attached his lips to the head of Castiel's cock.

Laying back in the bed Castiel panted to catch his breath, basking in the tingling afterglow of his orgasm.

{}

Suddenly Castiel jolted awake, wide eyes scanning the darkness.

He was alone in his room in the church. Glancing over at the clock he read the time as 3:45 AM.

Running a shaking hand over his face Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. It was only a dream.

Shifting his legs under the sheets Castiel groaned as he felt wet semen clinging to his boxers.

Despite his better judgment it seemed, his subconscious at least, was lusting after a depraved but admittedly handsome demon.

* * *

><p>(AN: *Scaphism is a very nasty type of torture/execution that was used by the Persians which involved diarrhea, insects and gangrene. If you're morbidly curious about the rest you can google it.

So this chapter was kind of an interlude, all of the real plot bunnies and action is starting in the next chapter.

Also, please don't forget to review, they motivate me greatly meaning better chapters and faster updates. Lastly I'm sorry the formatting for this is shitty any advice about how to make it 'neater' to make it easier to read would be appreciated. Thanks for reading.)


	4. Four for Death

Dean wandered around the small town, the night clinging to him like a preternatural coat.

A breeze kicked at the fallen maple leaves in front of him, creating a hush that echoed in the park Dean found himself in once again. Everything stilled, clouds passed over head, robbing the demon of moonlight for a brief moment.

On the footpath stood a figure. It frowned at him and beckoned with its bloated hand.

The bitter tang of sulfur pervaded the air and alongside it came the unmistakable stench of burning human hair. A greasy bitter smell that set Dean's teeth on edge.

To humans all demons looked and smelled the same. It seemed as if they all had the common distinctive pair of beetle black eyes and the odour of sulfur. But to the supernatural creatures that ruled the three planes each demon was distinct.

Dean had a cloak of red fire and black smoke whilst the one in front of him was a smoldering bloated corpse.

Dean huffed and turned away, not wanting to give the other demon any of his time.

"Hey!" the demon cried, footsteps pounding the pavement in a hurried staccato.

"Where do you think you're going Dean? I'm here for a status report."

Dean turned; hate burning in his eyes. Everything from the demon's squinting pig like eyes, to the flab of fat that hung over the man's waist belt; all of it repulsed Dean.

"Everything is going along swimmingly Macellum." Dean stared down at the demon's porcine face as if to drive the point home.

Wiggling a stunted finger in front of Dean's nose Macellum began to walk around Dean, nose raised to the air to soak in Dean's scent. "No, no, no, that simply won't do. You've been up here for a few days now Dean, you are being awfully slow."

Taking a step back Dean tried to walk away from the demon, skin crawling with Macellum's presence.

Stepping lightly in front of Dean, Macellum continued, "Now what is the problem, hm? One little priest too much for the infamous Hunter turned demon?"

A vein began to pulse in Dean's forehead; his fingers itched with the desire for violence.

With a comically flamboyant gesture Macellum sighed, shoulders sagging, "I suppose I can help you this once, Dean. After all, from how his sweet scent clings to you I'm sure this little priest of yours will taste positively divine."

Dean moved; one fluid motion and he felt the soft fat of Macellum's neck ooze around his fingers. Both demon's eyes flicked to black, a wolfish snarl from Dean forced a frightened squeak from the choking demon.

"He's mine Macellum. Mine. Get that through your thick skull before I decide to do something more permanent to it."

Macellum managed a meek nod before being released by Dean. Collapsing to the stone footpath Macellum massaged his bruised neck, little black eyes disappearing beneath fatty folds as he glared up at Dean.

"I'll be telling Alastair about this. He'll deal with that priest if I can't."

Something snapped within Dean. His eyes widened and his blood drowned in heady adrenaline as he roared with a guttural cry. He descended on Macellum hands fisting themselves in his greasy black hair.

Dean never heard the pathetic cry as he dashed Macellum's skull against the footpath. Red exploded on the stones, rippling in the gossamer moonlight.

Macellum lay stunned, teeth protruding through his upper lip. Grey brain matter oozed through the cracks in his skull. Pain rattled his thoughts and made him numb to the feeling of Dean turning him over onto his back.

Looking up at his attacker Macellum watched as a demented smile painted itself in horrifying angles on Dean's face. Leaning down Dean's nose hovered millimeters away from Macellum's own.

"Oh poor little pig." Dean cooed, his thumbs gently moving over the exaggerated curves of Macellum's cheek only to rest on his lidded eyes. "About to be eaten by the big, bad, wolf."

As each word was said pressure began to build on Macellum's eyes.

The prone demon began to thrash, sounds of agony threaded the night as Dean's thumbs finally pushed through the fleshy eyeballs. Blood welled over Macellum's skin, his eyes now two inkwells of crimson ink.

"You won't be telling Alastair anything Macellum. I've dreamt of this moment…Getting rid of those pig eyes first, and then, then, I dreamt about getting rid of you."

Macellum struggled, the demon blindly groped to get away, fingernails wrenched from their spongy beds as he scrabbled at the stone pathway to get away.

Throwing out his foot Dean kicked Macellum's hand, breaking the bones like brittle twigs.

Macellum bawled, red tears soaking his face.

"Please! Please don't! Leave me be!"

The assault paused; Macellum could only hope that Dean was thinking about sparing him as he was now blind to the world.

A brute force thrust itself into his chest. Macellum's head lolled to the side as he felt fingers groping, searching, and looking for his soul.

"I'm having too much fun to stop now Macellum…Bye little piggy."

With a grunt of exertion Dean wrenched his blooded hand free of Macellum's chest. In his hand a writhing black mass struggled to fly away. It burnt like corrosive acid and squirmed like a ball of worms and leeches.

Bringing his other hand to it Dean snarled as he struggled to rip it apart. His muscles bunched with the exertion, until finally with a thunderous crack he ripped it apart, red tendrils of energy exploding into the night sky.

Panting, Dean doubled over. Sweat dripped from his brow as he looked into the bloodied holes of Macellum's eye cavities.

Wiping his bloodied hands on the moist grass to the side of the path Dean fled the park, his thoughts in turmoil.

Macellum was one of Alastair's loyal minions. Dean kept walking, fighting the urge to run. He'd just painted a target on his back.

A slightly hysterical laugh burbled on Dean's lips. And what was it for? Sure he hated Macellum, but the prick wasn't worth it.

Playing back the other demon's words, Dean realised that the only thing Macellum had spoken about was Castiel.

Giving out to the shaking in his legs Dean leaned against the brick wall he found himself at. Castiel. What was it about Castiel? Sighing, Dean straightened his jacket and shook himself out of his shivering. Rolling his head Dean's neck cracked and popped. Macellum was right about one thing though. He did have more work to do and he _was _going to damn Castiel to hell. Not some two-bit demon. Castiel was _his. _

0…0…0…

Standing at the pulpit Castiel addressed his congregation, his mind distracted as he kept replaying the lewd scenes of his wet dream over and over in his head.

Yet the bakers dozen of people noticed nothing amiss as he rattled off a passage of the Old Testament. Luckily, he didn't even have to think about what to say in service anymore.

It was second nature. It was boring.

Castiel's lips thinned as he waited for the congregation to finish singing their hymn.

It shouldn't be boring. This was the life he had devoted himself to. This was God's will and he would not stray from his path.

Resolve strengthened, Castiel's chapped lips parted to add his voice to the hymn, but he paused.

Tiny flutters of movement seemed to pass over his trousers. Surely it was his imagination though. Surreptitiously stealing a glance downwards Castiel startled when he saw green eyes glimmering at him from the hidden recess in the pulpit.

How the demon had stayed concealed there was a mystery. Castiel tried to put a small distance between himself and the pulpit but was stopped by the hand that latched onto his thigh.

Smirking, Dean laid a warm hand against Castiel's crotch, delighted when he felt the jolt of surprise that ran through Castiel.

Clearing his throat to hide his surprised yelp, Castiel continued with his service, trying with all his might to ignore the hand that trailed ever closer to the thin metal line of his fly.

Leaning forward, Dean's fingers found the small metal tag. With a slow, agonizing pace he watched the silver teeth part, revealing the white briefs that Castiel wore.

Laughing quietly to himself Dean splayed his fingers over the stiffening member hidden beneath the cotton, eyes rising to watch Castiel fidget with discomfort.

Castiel stared into the parishioners, willing his flesh to stop reacting to the soft ministrations.

The words of scripture began to tumble clumsily from his mouth, when once they would have flowed like spring water over pebbles.

A flush sprang to Castiel's cheeks as he felt cool air brush over the erection he could feel pulsing between his legs.

His dream from last night seemed to be eerily coming to life.

Dean laid his hand on Castiel's erection, thumb teasing over the head to smear the pre-cum in a glistening sheen.

Heat began to pool in Dean's gut, his own cock began to ache and beg silently for attention. Undoing his own fly with his other hand, Dean held himself in one hand, eyes rolling back in his head at the thrill of doing this in public.

Castiel gripped the edges of the wooden platform, knuckles white with the effort of maintaining an aura of normalcy. Desperate to distract the congregation Castiel called for the peace exchange.

People stood and milled about, shaking hands and smiling. Brief enquiries to the health and happiness of others were exchanged with each gesture.

Breathing out a shaky sigh of ecstasy Castiel looked down at Dean. The demon's fingers worked up and down his shaft, the rough jerks made Castiel bite his lip and eyelashes flutter. It was a struggled not to thrust his hips in time with Dean's skillful hand.

This was all so wrong. A terrible sin. Being handled in such a manner by a demon…in his church…in service…with thirteen people watching. It was horrid.

Groaning, Castiel's head lolled to the side, he missed the odd looks he garnered in a few attending the service.

It might be wrong but it was so damn good.

The thrill of being watched, being brought to completion unbeknownst to his flock, made his body pulse and breathing come in short hurried gasps.

Dean's canine gnawed his lip as he enraptured Castiel, his own end was coming quickly as he felt his erection throb fiercely in his palm and balls tighten. The thought of being found defiling this priest made his erection boil with sensation. It was nearly enough for Dean to cum without ever touching himself.

As the peace exchange came to an end, Castiel closed his eyes.

He was so close.

The congregation waited, confused glances shared between them.

Castiel looked up, eyes lidded. He should say something. He really, really should. But he couldn't. Instead he merely gasped in time with each lewd stroke. Each roughened callus on Dean's hand was in perfect opposition to the demon's soft palm running over his cock.

Slamming a hand down on the top of the pulpit Castiel held himself up as he felt his orgasm rip through him, bright white light blanking out the scene of his church for the longest, most pleasurable moment he had ever known.

Cum coated Dean's fingers, specks of it painted his wrist and rolled down his skin.

With a silent burst Dean came as well, his hand twisting the head of his cock for a final pulse of exhilarating gratification.

Zipping himself and Castiel back up, Dean waited patiently for Castiel to finish the service.

Minutes later Castiel asked for the closing prayer. Relief swept over him as the conclusion to the mass neared.

Walking down the central passageway Castiel bade goodbye to the faithful. The widow Mrs. Cooper paused in front of Castiel. Looking up into his blue eyes she made a concerned smile. "Are you alright dear, you look awfully flushed and during mass you seemed…distracted."

Castiel's face flushed with the warmth of his embarrassment. "Ugh, yes, I think I may be coming down with a flu. I'm sorry."

Nodding, Mrs. Cooper patted Castiel's shoulder, "it's alright Father, get better soon."

"I will" Castiel replied, trying his best to look anywhere but at her face.

Soon afterwards the church was empty.

Whipping around Castiel's expression was thunderous as he stared at the demon that leaned nonchalantly against the pulpit. His posture was the epitome of relaxed, a sly smile on his face and feet crossed at the ankle.

"You liked that huh?" Dean asked, words smug.

"_Christo!_" Castiel shouted, eyebrows drawn together with anger.

Jerking back at the word Dean hissed with pain, "play nice Cas."

Striding up to Dean, Castiel's breaths were deep huffs, his anger consuming him. "Have you damned me?"

Dean raised his hands placatingly, predicting the use of a rosary or holy water, "what? A little grope and fondle from a demon? No, that's certainly not enough."

Anything but pacified at the answer Castiel reached for the silver rosary hanging from his neck. Yet Castiel stopped short when he noticed the dark splatters staining Dean's leather jacket.

"Is that your blood?"

Quirking a brow Dean looked down at his brown jacket, "ah no, it's not mine."

Castiel raised the rosary, his anger building to new levels, "who's is it Dean? Don't lie to me, I'll be able to tell."

Lowering his hands Dean's fingers followed the subtle dark spray of dried blood. "You know how hard it is to get blood out of leather?"

Closing the gap between them, Castiel's eyes darkened to a stormy blue, "answer the question."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "The blood's from a demon called Macellum. He pissed me off, so I killed him."

Curiosity piqued, Castiel released the rosary, "why would you kill a demon? Won't you be in trouble?"

Dean looked up, his eyes wide with fright and uncertainty for a split moment. Quickly recovering, the mask of bravado slid back into place. "He wanted a piece of you. I'd promised that I'd be the one to deal with you if you didn't exorcize me, remember?"

The corners of Dean's eyes crinkled as he continued, whether with anger or concern, Castiel wasn't able to tell. "I don't go back on my promises Cas. And I won't get into any trouble I can't handle."

As if to strip away any reassurance from Dean's words lightning flashed outside, flooding the church with stark light. Rain began to patter against the slate shingles on the roof, creating an ominous background.

Turning to watch the rain framed by the window Castiel sighed, "thank you."

Snapping his eyes to Castiel, Dean waited for an explanation.

Facing Dean, Castiel parodied the demon's bravado, "one demon I can handle. Two…" Castiel trailed off a smile on his pink lips.

Dean's eyes lit up, "so you forgive me for the hand job?"

Rolling his eyes, Castiel walked away from Dean, intent on having a cold shower, "don't push it Dean."

Pointing to a door to the left of the church Castiel added, "there's a corridor down there and the first door on the right is a spare bedroom. You can stay here tonight seeing at it's raining."

With that, Castiel disappeared into his own private rooms.

Dean sat down on one of the pews, the tension and fear of having to face the consequences of killing Macellum evaporating. Castiel trusted him enough to stay in the church. The thought pleased him inordinately. Without realizing it a smile blossomed on his face.

Lightning cracked like a whip outside, the wind howled with the fervour of a banshee.

A storm was coming.

* * *

><p>(AN: I know, I know, heavy on the pathetic fallacy, forgive me. And I'm really sorry for the late update, I've been busy. Thanks for the reviews, more would be lovely.)


	5. Five for Silver

Dean had laid in the bed for three hours; tossing and turning as though he were the one being hurled about in the gale billowing outside.

With a frustrated growl Dean threw back the blankets and stepped out of the bed. Demons didn't need sleep but most indulged, sloth was a sin after all.

Tugging on his jeans over his briefs, Dean then slipped on his green t-shirt and leather jacket.

Soon he was outside braving the frenzied howls of the wind. Flicking up the collar of his jacket Dean hunkered down in it, eyes watering against the strangely unseasonable wind.

Unseasonable.

Yeah that was one way to put it.

Dean's pace slowed as he gave the thought more time to brew.

Unseasonable wasn't quite the right word. Paranormal, supernatural, _demonic_.

That last one nailed it.

Dean stopped walking; he stood on the lifeless footpath opposite the church and waited for the inevitable.

It wasn't long before Dean's worst suspicions were realised and at that moment the storm dropped quicker than a pebble in a pond.

In the deafening silence that ensued footsteps could be heard. As the sound of footsteps approached the overhanging streetlights cut out. One, by, one.

Out of the night stood the demon that terrified Dean the most.

Alastair's true form was a portrait from a tortured man's worst nightmare.

Every pore of his pale skin leaked lurid red blood as though he had soaked in the blood of the thousands of souls he had tortured.

His eyes were cold and dead, the eyeballs the colour of fatty marrowbone.

And with every step he took closer to Dean the hooks in his skin would tug the silver chains along the ground behind him, creating a metallic ringing that cut through the air.

"Deaaan" Alastair crooned, pale arms raised for an embrace. "Come to me."

Dean never moved, his blood flowed like molasses. His mind rang with a numbing panic.

Alastair's lips peeled over his gums, his sharply pointed teeth parted to let out his tongue as he licked his lips.

"What's the matter Dean..?" Alastair crooned, a cruel mockery lacing the words.

Steeling himself Dean tucked his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking, "nothing Alastair, I was just wondering why you were here."

Alastair's head lilted from left to right in an eerily monotonous shake of disapproval. "You know why I'm here Dean."

Swallowing down the thick bile in his throat Dean attempted a shaky smile, "what? Macellum? Don't tell me you actually cared for that bottom feeder."

Alastair took one looming step forward, drawing himself tightly into Dean's personal space. "Well you know me Dean. Of course I didn't care about Macellum's sticky end."

Alastair stole one final step closer. The demons now shared the same crisp autumn air. "But what I do care about is that I have a reputation to uphold. If you take a loyal minion away from me…I have to take something away from you."

Dean felt his eyelids flutter close, his heart pounded a frantic beat. There was no point in running. There was no point in resisting.

With his eyes still closed Dean heard Alastair moving around his frozen body, Alastair's heavy rasping breath snaked down his neck.

The hairs rose on Dean's skin.

Bony fingers latched onto his jacket, and Dean had to resist the urge to flinch when he felt Alastair's other hand gripping his jaw in a painful vice.

The hand on Dean's jacket disappeared.

Dean clenched his eyes tighter till he could feel a taut burn.

Something sharp slowly sunk into his gut. It twisted from side to side like a worm burrowing into an apple.

Pain radiated from the spot. Agonizing spurts of sensation electrified Dean with each wriggle from the blade. Dean grit his teeth, breathing heavily through his flared nostrils. With his eyes sealed shut he could smell the copper of blood all too distinctly and he could feel that sickly warmth spreading from the widening gouge in his belly with heightened acuteness.

Dried brittle lips brushed against the shell of his ear.

"This…" Alastair mused against Dean's ear, "is what I'm going to start with."

Thrumming pain blackened Dean's mind, the blade in his abdomen stripped away all rational human thought. All that remained was pure animalistic instinct. The instinct to be patient, to be subservient to the superior creature.

And it was that instinct to survive that allowed Dean to keep his eyes closed, even as the hands explored and the blade dug even deeper.

0…0…0…0

There was a bang against the door. Castiel turned, heart thudding in his chest.

He watched, seeing a shadow moving under the door.

Squinting down at the gap, Castiel took a few cautious steps forward.

"…ss"

Castiel paused, straining his ears to pick up the faintest of sounds. The wind whispered through the trees outside creating an eldritch hush.

Heaving out a breath Castiel began to turn away, cursing his over-reactive imagination.

"Cas…"

It was weak, but unmistakable.

Rushing to the door Castiel snatched at the wrought iron handles, wrenching the oaken doors apart.

In the opening lay a form, prone and heavily bleeding. Wheezing gasps fell in time with the shuddering of the shadowed body. One hand was a mangled mess, fingers broken at odd angles. It seemed as though it was forgotten as it laid like an old toy as it dangled over the ledge of the first step.

Kneeling down beside the form Castiel rested his hand on its shoulder. Sticky cold ooze clung to his fingers, making Castiel draw his hand back as though stung.

Reaching out again Castiel turned the body over, mouth popping agape as he saw the bloodied face.

Blood trickled from Dean's parted lips, a macabre parody of red wine spilling over the lip of a cup.

"Dean" Castiel called, shaking the limp demon.

Dean's eyes opened, thick eyelashes sticking with blood. What once were bottle green eyes was now a putrid vermillion, nearly the hue of tar in places.

Ghostly white fingertips traced over Castiel's bare neck, following the line of Castiel's jugular.

Castiel stilled, azure eyes never leaving Dean's spotted lips as he allowed himself to feel rather than see Dean's hand moving.

Finally, Dean's fingers came to a stop on the edge of Castiel's clerical collar. Latching onto it, Dean's fingernails scraped against Castiel's skin as they tucked themselves into the underside of the collar.

With a feeble tug Castiel's collar slipped loose with a subtle hiss of fabric.

Dean's dulled green eyes creased at the edges with a smile that didn't quite reach its vibrancy.

"See, I told you."

Gently prizing the collar free from Dean's grip Castiel's head titled hawkishly to the side, "told me what?"

A gurgling chuckle came from Dean, "that you wouldn't be a priest no more."

Rolling his eyes Castiel levered Dean up, looping his arm around the demon's shoulders.

"You can't be that badly injured Dean or you wouldn't be making the shit jokes."

Dean's arm wrapped around Castiel's back for support, his fingers gently squeezing, "y'know, I think that's the first time I've heard you swear."

Dragging Dean's lethargic body through the church Castiel sneaked a peak at Dean's face; "I think you might be having a bad influence on me," Castiel intoned in a deadpan.

Dean's head lolled onto Castiel's shoulder, his eyes rolling back to expose the veined whites, a disturbing juxtaposition to the demonic black. Castiel didn't stop; he pulled his burden through the church.

A spike of golden light seeped from the ajar bedroom door down the corridor. Readjusting his grip, Castiel shrugged Dean's weight further onto him.

The rhythmic press of Dean's chest against Castiel's side was strangely comforting.

Toeing open the door, Castiel dumped Dean's unconscious form onto the bed.

Swiping a hand across his brow Castiel rid himself of the beads of sweat.

Seating himself on the edge of the mattress Castiel carefully peeled back Dean's jacket with a languid sticking sound.

Stomach flipping at the sight, Castiel gagged, pivoting his body away to heave silently.

Dean's eyes moved beneath their lids, a muted sough trembling the pearls of blood balanced on the thin membrane of his lips.

Facing the grievous wounds once more Castiel swallowed in shallow gulps of air. Thick grayish masses peeked from underneath the curve of Dean's lower ribs. Little pockets of daisy yellow fat wobbled with Dean's delirious tossing.

Pushing himself off from the bed Castiel stared at the plain silver cross hanging above the headboard of the bed. A simple prayer of strength and perseverance was what he asked.

That odd tingling swept over him. It settled the roiling bile in his belly and cleared his head of the ghoulish images. Now he could look upon Dean with a cool detachment.

Dean's eyes shot open. He eyeballed the strange creature in front of him. It looked like Castiel. But it certainly wasn't him. There was something else entirely standing at the foot of his bed.

It had stolen the guise of the bull headed priest. Its eyes were the blue flash of lightning, cold and powerful; it's posture a perfect replica of a marble statue. Dean shivered and willed his frayed nerves to move one last time.

Anywhere but here with this…thing.

The creature looked down at him, brow corrugating with confusion.

"It's alright Dean, I'll look after you."

It disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, reemerging with an armful of soft white towels and sheets.

With a sheet in its hand it laid it with a firm but gentle pressure on Dean's weeping wound.

Dean tried to push it away, tears threatening to spring to his eyes. This, whatever _this _was, was far more terrifying than Alastair could ever hope to be.

Dean could feel himself gasping for air. His head was eerily light but his body possessed the weight of a behemoth.

Hushing Dean, the creature smoothed its delicate hand over Dean's brow.

It looked upset.

Dean regained some of his breath. Why would it be upset?

Keeping the pressure on Dean's stomach the creature leaned over him, planting a gentle kiss to the tear of pain, exhaustion and bewilderment that had slipped free from the crease of Dean's eye.

"Just sleep Dean, I'll stay with you."

And that's exactly what the demon did.

0…0…0…0

Dean awoke to his skin crawling with itches.

Lazily raking his fingers over his exposed belly, Dean stared at the ceiling.

Looking to the side Dean noticed Castiel, sound asleep in a spindly wooden chair.

Memories curiously absent as to what happened last night, Dean tried to sit up.

Skin tugged and stung with the movement, forcing Dean to move more cautiously.

"Shit." Dean surveyed the damage to his body. Little black stitches were sewn in neat random lines down his tanned skin. In the creases of his hips were crusting pools of dried blood and dotting the undulations of his muscles were intense purple bruises that had turned green at the edges.

One hand was tightly bandaged, just twitching his fingers ached.

Dean looked upon his injured body as though it belonged to someone else.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress Dean cradled his patch-worked stomach as if to help the stitches keep his organs in place.

Castiel stirred at the noise, his eyes blearily opening.

Dean smirked, "hey sunshine."

Glaring, Castiel turned over to his side, eyes closing with the stubborn determination to go back to sleep.

Yet it wasn't meant to be as the high-pitched trill of Castiel's ringtone called for attention from his pocket. Sitting up in the chair Castiel scratched at the shadow of stubble on his chin as his fingers clumsily groped his pocket for his mobile.

Voice scratchy Castiel answered the call, "hello."

An unknown female voice replied, "is this Castiel Singer, son to Bobby Singer?"

Dean listened from his seat on the stony mattress, superior demonic hearing sensitive to every word being uttered.

"I'm very sorry to inform you Mr. Singer but your father is in a serious condition at the Sioux Falls Hospital. He was brought in last night after he was assaulted in his home…"

White ringing filled Castiel's hearing, numb to anything else the woman said.

Stiffly standing, Dean gently took the mobile away from Castiel.

Castiel's face was pale, a subtle shivering rose up in the man. Kneeling next to the chair Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel in a fierce but warm hug.

Castiel rested his cheek against Dean's naked shoulder blade, a drawn out sigh wrecking through him.

Dean's heart lurched, his fingers dug deeper into Castiel's black shirt.

"I'll drive."

It had been a long time since Castiel had needed a hug.

And it had been even longer since Dean had hugged anyone.

It was a small silver lining.

(A/N: Well this chapter is the halfway point. The next chapter will probably be a short one as it will set up the action for the rest of the _longer_ chapters. Please leave a review! And thank you so much for the kind words I did receive.)


	6. Six for Gold

The fluorescent lights of the hospital entrance cut a swathe through the darkness, beckoning for Dean and Castiel to enter. As soon as they stepped over the threshold the smell of strong disinfectant and the subtle bitter hint of ammonia, sickness and death filled both men's nostrils.

The reception to the hospital stood before them, an elegant white curve which housed a nurse and neatly dressed woman. Castiel approached the desk, his complexion as wan as the tab of white at his throat.

"Excuse me," Castiel began, "I'm here to see my father, Bobby Singer."

The neatly dressed woman looked up, a strained but polite smile breached her face, "let me see."

With slow, unhurried movements she tapped at the keyboard in front of her. The minutes stretched on. Each proverbial falling grain of sand seemed to take an age to hit the bottom of the hourglass.

Glaring, Dean loomed over the counter; the lights above the reception flickered, startling the receptionist. "My friend here is in a hurry you loathsome little bitch, stop taking your sweet time."

The woman nodded meekly, her eyes wide as her manicured nails tapped at the keyboard at a far quicker pace.

"Mr. Singer is in the emergency ward, just down the corridor and then to your right. He's in room 23."

Flashing the woman a bright smile Dean grabbed Castiel's upper arm and dragged him away from the counter.

As they walked Castiel looked over at Dean, whose face was pinched and eyes dark, "you know your eyes turned black when you threatened that receptionist."

Dean smiled thinly, "yeah, well, she was getting on my nerves."

As they rounded the corridor Bobby's room came into sight. Inside, the room was dark, the only light was the garish green from the monitors. The sounds of the hospital were muted in this dark little place.

Dean flicked the light switch at the wall, suddenly flooding the room with clinical white light. It exposed in horrid clarity Bobby's poor condition. One of his eyes was swollen shut, blood crusted at his nostrils. His burned hands were bandaged with gauze but a yellow puss seeped from the breathable pores in the fabric. His breath rattled in his lungs, a clear sign of a punctured lung.

Yet when Bobby's one good eye peeled open a megawatt smile lit up his purpled features. "Hey boy. Thanks for coming to see your old man."

Castiel felt surprisingly calm as he gently took one of Bobby's hands and sank into the seat next to his bed. "Well I had to make sure you were behaving whilst you were here. Or give you, your last rites. It is my job you know."

Bobby's eyes wrinkled with a smile, a rattling chuckle leaving him also.

Turning his head Bobby faced Dean, who leaned against the doorframe. "I've had enough demons for one day without having you here at my bedside."

Dean's head lolled backwards so that his head rested against the wood. "I was afraid this was going to happen."

Whipping his head around Castiel's eyes begged askance, their blue depths carried the first subtle hints of accusation.

"Well" Dean began, "seeing as my progress has been slow with you Cas, other demons have taken it upon themselves to send you a message."

Castiel cocked a brow, his hand tightening reflexively around Bobby's, "and if you would be so kind as to translate this message."

Shrugging, Dean came up to the bed, fingers playing idly with the clipboard hanging from the bar at Bobby's feet, "that if you don't give in they'll find other ways to hurt you. They'll put you in a corner until you have no choice but to damn yourself." Pausing, Dean looked to the dark window set in the alabaster coloured wall. "They'll kill or maim everyone you've ever spoken to and torture those you've ever loved."

Castiel laid Bobby's hand down so that he could stand in front of Dean, though the demon's eyes seemed to shy away. If Dean was human he could have sworn it was guilt. "You promised me this wouldn't happen."

Dean looked up; vivid green eyes meeting deep blue ones. "I'm sorry about all of this you know. I never wanted this to happen…" Dean threw up his hands in a helpless gesture before he could finish his own sentence, "but this is all beyond me now. I can't do anything to stop it."

With that, Bobby heaved a weighty sigh.

"Well, I'm glad I was prepared. I always had an inkling this would happen."

Bobby looked at Dean, asking him silently to leave the room. When Dean didn't budge Castiel took the reins.

"You can go and get some proper treatment for your injuries Dean. I would have called an ambulance in the first place but…"

Dean finished the thought for him, "but you weren't sure if I was going to gut every nurse and doctor when I woke up, did ya?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Castiel sighted weakly, "exactly. I have no illusions about what you're capable of."

Dean sat himself down in one of the chairs, a slight hiss of pain brushing past his lips as he did. The stiches still pulled painfully, and he was pretty sure Alastair had done something to twist up his organs in a very literal sense. "I know you're trying to get rid of me. But I want to help."

Castiel frowned, "I fail to see why a _demon _would want to help me. One that has been trying to damn me for the past week."

Dean's fists balled in his lap, "listen here you prudish little-"

"Would you quit your bitchin' you two and shut up? I've got something to say." Bobby's voice shot the argument dead.

"Now, there's a false slot in the mantelpiece above the fireplace back at my house. Just slide it out and inside there's a box…It should help you both."

Dean glanced over at Castiel, then eyeballed Bobby speculatively, "how the hell is a box supposed to help us?"

Bobby threw his head back against the cushion with a whoosh of air, "not the box idjit! The thing that'll help is inside the box! God damn it kid you're a moron."

For the first time since Castiel had met him a blush powdered the demon's face. Castiel stifled the laughter bubbling up inside him with a hand clasped against his lips.

Dean muttered a pathetic retort before excusing himself from the room, eager to escape his embarrassment.

With the demon gone Bobby's expression sobered. "Be careful with him son. Don't ever forget he's a demon, and demons are only out for themselves."

Nodding, Castiel put his hand on the rosary around his neck. Bowing his head Castiel took the rosary off, gripping it tightly in his hand before laying it on Bobby's heaving chest. "I know dad, I keep telling myself that. But if he wanted to damn me, I think he might have done it already."

Bobby's lips thinned with his disagreement, but his bandaged hand reached for Castiel regardless, "you may not be my blood Castiel, but I've always loved you like a son. What you'll find in that box is going to change everything for you…and I hope you can forgive me for hiding it from you for so long."

Castiel leaned down over Bobby, planting his lips on his warm cheek, "I trust your judgement and for the record I'm glad you're the one who found me."

With that Castiel left, joining Dean outside the door as they walked back through the hospital. All the frenetic noises and smells of the hospital came back to them like a high tide.

They walked through it all once again. Castiel spared a glance for no one, his mind whirling with thoughts and speculation, Dean however shot a wink at the receptionist who cowered behind her computer screen.

o…o…o

The highway was like an alien landscape. Black and sparsely lit by the hovering spectres of light every few yards. The twin yellow lines were like flares, shooting past as Castiel's 1967 Impala shot towards Bobby's home.

Dean was in the drivers seat; his hands lovingly gripped the leather steering wheel. "Man, I love this car."

Castiel was staring outside, his forehead resting against the cool perspiring glass of the window. "My dad gave it to me when I turned 18. Someone sold it to him and he fixed it up."

Dean smiled and put his foot down on the accelerator. The engine purred like a wild cat as it loped down the highway. "Poor baby doesn't get enough exercise." Dean cooed to the engine.

Castiel lifted his head away from the window so that he could stare at Dean's profile. Another one of his electrifying smiles was adorning Dean's face. "Dean…what were you going to say in the hospital, about you never wanting this to happen? Somehow I don't think you were talking about this mess we're in specifically."

The demon looked at Castiel out of the corner of his eye but remained stubbornly silent.

Castiel shrugged in acquiescence and tugged the dog collar free from his neck. He had a feeling he wouldn't need it for much longer. Dean watched Castiel take off his collar, his attention tracked Castiel's lithe fingers to the first button on his black shirt. Castiel undid the button, exposing the milky dip of his throat.

Dean's tongue traced over his suddenly dry lips. He shifted in his seat, making the leather squeak in protest.

"To answer your question padre, I never wanted to be a demon. I never wanted to turn into the thing I used to Hunt. It's my worst nightmare come true."

Castiel digested the words, "Dean-"

Shaking his head Dean's fingers began to beat a tattoo against the steering wheel, a nervous tick. "No let me finish. I used to help people by being a Hunter, it's why I loved the gig. It was my life. I was no fucking hero or anything. I caused people trouble everywhere I went but I saved a lot of lives too…that instinct doesn't go away Cas. I want you to trust me."

Castiel leaned closer on the bench seat; he tentatively planted a hand on Dean's broad shoulder. "You don't have to be like them Dean. You're a demon, I get that, but that doesn't mean you have to follow their orders."

With a smirk Castiel's hand curved itself around the back of Dean's hot neck, "look at me, I'm a priest but I'm not acting like one at all."

Dean smiled, eyes finally extricating themselves away from the road. His emerald eyes were luminescent in the gloom of the car. "I can give it a shot" Dean supplied with an upturn of his lip.

Without realising it Dean had slowed the car and had brought it to the gravel to the side of the road. The engine rumbled pleasantly as Dean's body devoured the space left between himself and Castiel.

Castiel's hand moved up Dean's neck, fingers threading through the short crop of soft hair. The priest yanked Dean's head closer, mind heady with excitement and arousal.

Dean's pupils dilated with the rough jerk, his lips eager to meet Castiel's. Dean's lips were hot and plump, Castiel's were the perfect juxtaposition; chapped but quickly moistened by Dean's willing tongue. Castiel's fingers tightened as Dean's hand found his crotch, the demon's clever fingers fondling Castiel through the black fabric.

Castiel gasped and Dean took the opportunity to dart his tongue into Castiel's mouth, his tongue explored to the music of Castiel's fly coming undone.

Castiel's tongue battled for dominance but he couldn't keep up as Dean's hand caressed his aching cock. Castiel shuddered; pulling his mouth away from Dean's to gulp in deep lungfuls of air.

Castiel spread his legs eagerly, nothing priest like or demure in the motion at all. Dean took the advantage and pushed Castiel back against the car door. Tugging down Castiel's trousers and underwear Dean's tongue traced a line from Castiel's inner thigh to the tendon that stretched from Castiel's leg to his groin. With a frustrated growl Castiel canted his hips upwards, giving Dean more room to work.

With a purr to mimic the Impala's, Dean's tongue explored the curve of Castiel's ass. His tongue tasted the young man's musk, all salt and sweet myrrh from the incense of the church. The tip of his tongue dipped into the tight ring of muscle, making Castiel jump and swear. Dean lapped at the puckered flesh, his hand working Castiel dick to a furious red blush. Dean hummed against Castiel's skin, the vibrations against the taut muscles made Castiel squirm and buck against the seat.

Seizing the opportunity Dean slipped a finger past the relaxed ring.

Castiel looked down at Dean, face shining with sweat. "Dean what are you doing?"

With a smug smile Dean's mouth went to work on the head of Castiel's dick, his tongue whirling around the head. His tongue rubbed the thick pre-cum into Castiel's flesh.

Suddenly Castiel cried out, his cock pushing up further into Dean's mouth. Dean closed his eyes and fought the urge to smirk triumphantly as his fingers in Castiel's entrance nudged the priest's prostate.

Dean's mouth travelled slickly down Castiel's cock, leaving a veneer of saliva in his wake. As he did so, he thrust his fingers deeper into Castiel's warmth, finding the little bundle of nerves once more.

Castiel clenched his eyes shut, he felt completely out of control. His mind was in a different place; his body and the sensations wrecking it were all that mattered. His whole body was shaking, until finally Dean felt the cock in his mouth pulse in time with Castiel's shout of ecstasy. Dean swallowed around Castiel, fingers brushing his prostate once more for good measure.

Castiel stilled, his arms went limp at his side as he rested his head against the window once more. With a wet pop Dean's mouth left Castiel's softening flesh, and his fingers slipped free just as easily. Arms at either side of Castiel's body Dean crawled up the priest's prone form. Their mouths joined in a lazy kiss, allowing Castiel to taste himself on Dean's tongue. With that thought a post orgasmic thrill rushed through Castiel's blood.

Pressing his hips against Dean's neglected cock, Castiel smiled apologetically, "sorry that was so quick."

Dean shrugged, "virgins never do last long."

Castiel's face turned a deep red but he rose to the unspoken challenge. "Well at least let me repay the favour. Seeing as I'm abandoning my priestly vows, I may as well celebrate."

Dean grinned mischievously, "alright then, let's see what you can do."

With more strength either of them thought possible Castiel flipped Dean over. Castiel grinded his naked ass against Dean's clothed erection in a hard arch. Dean leaned up into the exposed flesh and closed his eyes. Yet Castiel moved down, making quick work of Dean's garments.

Castiel stripped away Dean's underwear, allowing his cock to spring free from the confinement. The heated air met Dean's cock, earning a pleased sigh from the demon.

Castiel's heart thudded like rain against an iron roof, all nerves. But he wasn't going to let that stop him.

Castiel bowed his head. Dean watched; deeply surprised but also impressed. The blushing nervous virgin from just a few days before was long forgotten. Now in his place was the strong and gorgeous man before him, whose mouth was quickly eradicating any rational thought from Dean's mind.

It was sloppy and messy, as Dean expected. But it was oh so good.

Castiel's tongue swiped at the head of his cock in long agonising bursts of heat and wetness. Dean gripped the headrest, his knuckles whitening as he felt Castiel's mouth envelope his cock. Dean moaned, mouth open and eyelids fluttering from the onslaught of pleasure. Castiel's free hand moved beneath Dean's shirt, fingertips pinched and teased one of Dean's nipples to hardness. It had been a few decades since he had been touched in such a pleasurable way, and it was because of that it was over embarrassingly quickly. Dean cried out a hasty warning, his nerves tingled and sparked as the knot in his belly tightened to breaking point. Castiel pulled away, lips glistening with pre-cum and spit.

With a heave Dean spilled himself, pearly strings decorating his chest in lewd lines.

They lay in a tangle of limbs, on the cramped car seat, not moving or saying anything. They merely breathed and basked in the glow.

But the moment couldn't last and as a car whizzed by Castiel sat up and began to tuck himself away.

"So am I damned now?" Castiel inquired as he watched Dean clean the cum off his chest with a serviette from his coat pocket.

"Nope. My cock's gotta be in your ass for that to happen."

Castiel rolled his eyes in exasperation, "eloquently put Dean."

Dean changed gears with one hand whilst the other was deftly putting his dick back in his jeans and zipping up his fly, "well I thought so."

In seconds they were back on the road as if the heated moment had never happened. The only evidence was the sweat and rumpled hair.

o…o…o

The sun peeked over the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant gold and violet pastels.

Dean walked down the stairs, in fresh borrowed clothes and hair still wet from the shower he had taken in Bobby's bathroom.

Striding into the dusty living room Dean eyeballed the piles of occult books stacked in haphazard towers around the room. By the window Castiel fidgeted anxiously, eyes glued on the cold fireplace.

"I though you would have opened it by now."

Castiel rubbed his hands together, stomach aching and muscles jumpy. "I wanted to wait for you."

"How sweet," Dean snidely remarked, that demonic ember inside of him flaring once more.

Yet Castiel paid the little reminder no heed as he approached the fireplace. The carved flowers and trailing ivy etched into the mantelpiece seemed strangely ominous.

Castiel's hand found the poppy and with a shuddering breath he slipped the panel free.

Cobwebs and dust permeated the inside. The smell of ozone oozed from the tiny space.

Dean took a subconscious step backward. His instincts told him to run and never look back.

Reaching inside the secret space, Castiel withdrew a long ebony box. Gold leaf flaked away as he touched it, destroying the patterns of cherubic figures that had once featured on the lid.

Looking over to Dean, Castiel smiled as he lifted the lid.

A horrendous ringing filled the room, making Dean fall to his knees with the excruciating pain. He clamped his hands over his bleeding eardrums and looked up at Castiel. The ex-priest didn't flinch, not even when the bright white light exploded like an atom bomb from the box.

It was over. The light receded and the ringing stopped abruptly.

Dean blinked furiously as he got to his feet. Shadowy images soon clarified. In Castiel's left hand was a vicious looking knife. On its side were strange patterns and the handle appeared to be made from some sort of animal horn.

Yet it was what was in the other hand, that intrigued Dean. Castiel held a gold chain between his fingers. He lifted it for closer inspection. Suspended from the elegant gold links was a tiny sliver of pale blue crystal.

Dean cleared his scratchy throat, "Cas..?"

But it was not a man that turned to face Dean.

* * *

><p>(AN: I didn't mean for this chapter to be quite so long, but it flowed and I just went with it! If you read please don't forget to review, I would love to get some critique. Not to mention they also motivate me to update quicker.)


	7. Seven for a Secret not to be told

Castiel turned to face him, eyes aglow with the fury of a lightning strike; they were twin neon sparks of sapphire blue light that pinned Dean in place like a butterfly on a board.

A human would not have been able to see the huge black set of wings, but Dean could. The arches traced the wooden ceiling; the long flight feathers bristled and danced with the preternatural wind that toppled the towers of books in the room.

It stepped towards him, hands outstretched like an angel atop the Vatican.

Dean spun away from him, turning towards the door.

But was stopped by the strange man that appeared in the room. His hands flew to Dean's forehead; his fingers too were aglow with that same peculiar light. The man's palm slapped itself down against Dean's forehead. It scorched and burned, the heat of an inferno pulsed from the touch.

An agonised cry left Dean, his fingers tore viciously at the man's wrist to no effect.

"Balthazar stop!"

And with that, the light and pain ceased.

Dean crumbled to his knees, gasping for breath. Dean wound his arms around his midsection in a feeble attempt to blanket the pain, blood dripped in vermilion lines from his nostrils.

Castiel pushed Balthazar aside, whose blonde brows were drawn together with consternation.

Dropping to his knee, Castiel cautiously raised his hand, afraid to scare Dean once again, "are you alright?"

Dean flinched away at Castiel's hand and stumbled to his feet, one arm still cradling his stomach. "What the fuck are you two anyway?"

Castiel brought himself to his feet, golden chain still in one hand. "Dean, please…"

Balthazar snorted as he walked over to Bobby's desk, his fingers skittering over the demonic blade Castiel had left behind. He too had a set of wings, although his were much smaller and were a caramel hue.

"Are you sure you won't let me smite the little vermin Cassy?"

Castiel glared, "Yes I'm sure Balthazar."

Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot, irritation marring his expression, "hey! Bird boys, I asked you a question."

Castiel turned to face Dean, his hands twisting themselves together, "it's pretty obvious isn't it Dean? We're both angels."

Dean's upper lip curled in an animalistic snarl, "angels don't exist," he growled out.

Balthazar shrugged, his softer down feathers brushing against his suit jacket, "to be frank it doesn't matter if you do or don't believe Cassy…and your name would be?"

"Dean" the demon supplied, arms linking themselves over his chest.

Balthazar nodded sagely, a devilish smile on his lips as though he were enjoying a personal joke.

Dean clenched his teeth, making the little muscle on his jaw line jump. In the space of three minutes the guy had tried to kill him and now was laughing at him. All those lovely, creative ideas about how to make people scream till their throats were ragged ribbons played themselves back in Dean's mind.

Shrugging, Balthazar's icy blue eyes returned to Castiel, "Anyway, Cassy, how are you feeling now that you're half angel? Not to mention you're officially on Hell's hit list."

Castiel startled, wings shifting clumsily, "half?"

"Yes, that necklace you have is only half of your Grace. It contained your true form and memories but the other bit is far more important, because that piece has your powers blackie."

"So," Dean began whilst he wiped away the lines of blood from his nostrils, "where's this other half?"

Balthazar gesticulated useless with his hands, "I know exactly where it is. It's at Lost Lake on Highway 19. It's about a days drive from here."

Dean beamed, canines poking over his lips in a wolfish smile, "great, can you fly us over there? Or can Cas? Seeing as he's got his wings back. Demons will be crawling all over us soon."

"Really Dean, as if life were ever that simple. If Cas were to try and fly you there you could both end up at the bottom of the Atlantic. Without his powers to guide him it would be extremely dangerous. As for me…" Balthazar's voice whittled away as he wandered into the kitchen. Castiel followed whilst he rolled his shoulders in an effort to relieve the new weight of his wings with Dean close behind him.

"Ah," Balthazar muttered as he fished out a bottle of whisky from a rickety old cupboard. Balthazar snatched a glass from the draining board, unbothered by the smoky blemishes on the glass. As he poured his drink, Balthazar continued. "You see when Cassy here was blessed by God, it made a lot of the other angels, namely the archangels furious with jealousy. They did nothing to stop the demons from tearing Cassy apart. They split his Grace in two, hiding half in Lost Lake and Castiel was reborn as a human. Demons did manage to find Cassy when he was reborn, but luckily Bobby found Cassy on a Hunt...he kept this secret from you to protect you presumably. Though how he found that half of your Grace is beyond little old me."

Castiel swallowed past the hard lump in his throat as he digested the new information, "I don't remember that…and what do you mean, blessed by God?"

Balthazar took a long swig from his glass; swallowing with a satiated sigh. "I haven't the faintest what it means, only the Archangels knew what God did to you. And I didn't expect you to retain all your memories but keep that necklace close and it'll bleed the rest of your memories back to you with time."

Dean leaned against the kitchen table, foot tapping the floor to a lazy beat of Led Zeppelin's '_Ramble On_', "aside from the jealousy, why would they do that?"

Balthazar looked down his nose at Dean, a long-suffering sigh acquainting itself with the dramatic shrug of his shoulders, "Because without Hell, Heaven is redundant."

Castiel nudged himself gracefully back into the conversation, "so then why are you helping us?"

"Well, to be frank dear I quite like the idea of being useless. No more annoying exorcisms or battles to fight. I can do whatever I want. Ménage a trios, sampling the finest brandy; you name it."

Dean huffed, "so basically you want a millennia to be a lazy fucker."

Balthazar's blonde brows shot up into his hairline with indignation, "Dean, there is nothing lazy about my fucking. I'm quite animated when I fuck and when I am not partaking in that delectable fruit I am indeed quite lazy. Please my little black eyed fiend, get it right next time."

Setting the empty glass down Balthazar smacked his lips, "well boys. That's all I can afford to help you with before I piss off Michael and get myself thrown into 're-education'."

With those final words Balthazar blinked out of existence with a ruffle of his feathers.

Dean visibly relaxed, his shoulders falling to their usual curve and his grip on the edge of the table went from white knuckled to at ease.

Castiel was still hesitant but he stood at Dean's side regardless. He was all too aware of the ungainly wings sprouting from his back like an alien parasite.

"Are you okay now Dean?"

Dean smiled, shoulder bumping Castiel's in a companionable way, "yeah, but I think it's going to take me a few more minutes before I'm used to your freaky new appendages."

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, the thick cords of muscle that attached his wings to his back shifted and pulled self-consciously, "can everyone see them?"

Dean shook his head, "no, regular humans won't be able to see them."

"Shouldn't I be able to see your true form now? Like when I saw it back in the church?"

Castiel felt his wings shiver. Despite his trust for Dean, as well as the other nameless and confusing emotions he now felt for the demon, that part of Dean still terrified him.

Dean's canine pinched his lip as he picked up on the faint movements of Castiel's wings, "no, demons have learned the benefits of subtlety. Our true form is only revealed when we want it to…or when we're angry or dying."

Brushing his lips over the shell of Dean's ear, Castiel inhaled the other man's scent. Ash, leather and coffee. It was a strangely heady mix.

Dean responded with a firm grope to Castiel's backside, fingers finding the delectably hard curve, "as much as I'd like to continue this" Dean began breathlessly, "we should get on the road."

o…o…o

They slid onto the plastic covered bench of the diner making the cheap yellow plastic squeak obscenely.

Silently they both looked at their menus.

It was a pointless waste of time and money Castiel thought as he rested his elbow on the sticky tabletop, lips quirked in a downturn.

Dean chose to ignore Castiel's behaviour, a smile as fake as the waitress's nails cracking on his face.

The waitress hobbled over. When she had put on her new black heels this morning before coming to work she knew she would regret it. Even the two handsome gentlemen sitting opposite each other in her diner wasn't enough for a smile to break through the temerity of the blisters on her heels.

"What can I get you boys?" she wrangled out of her lurid red lips.

Castiel glanced up sullenly from underneath his heavy black lashes but said nothing.

Dean smiled, eager to bring some sense of 'normalcy'.

"We'll take two cheeseburgers and a basket of chips to split."

The waitress's biro scratched on her pad as she took the order. Like a cow chewing cud she looked down at Dean as though she had much better places to be. And she did. Jerry Springer was playing on the television screen behind the salmon pink counter.

"And to drink?"

Dean glanced over at Castiel but sighed in resignation as the angel-human hybrid cast his blue gaze to the greyscale sky outside the grimy window.

"Two coffees with a spoon of sugar in the one."

Nodding, the woman scuttled like a cockroach back to her infested kitchen to place the order.

Grinding his teeth Dean laid his hands on the table. Castiel had been quiet ever since they got back in the car. The man had been lost in his thoughts for the better part of three long hours. Dean parted his lips several times in order to ask why, but eventually settled on the idea of staying silent.

The black minute hand ticked seven times before their orders arrived. The only noise in the meantime was the fryer crackling as the fries were dumped in and the sound of boos and hisses from the cheap television set. Despite the grimy atmosphere and the lack of other patrons the food that arrived looked appetising. Cheese melted from their burgers in heavy globs and the coffee that steamed from their chipped white mugs had a bittersweet aroma.

Without hesitation Dean picked up his burger, biting into the molten cheese and scalding beef patty. He hardly felt the burn, but the fatty grease that coated his tongue was delightful.

Castiel never made a move. He seemed impossibly small and ordinary in his tan trench coat that he had picked up from Bobbys. Yet even now Dean could see the monstrous length of his wings. They were tucked tightly against his back but some of its span still ghosted through the seat.

Pulling away from his burger Dean swallowed his mouthful audibly, "aren't you going to eat?"

Finally, Castiel looked at the steaming pile of food. "What's the point? I don't need to eat. I feel nothing when I look at it."

Castiel's index fingers pressed down on the sesame seed bun until the white fluffy interior of the bread breached the smooth brown exterior. "I see this plate of food like a bundle of facts. An animal would eat this. Vitamins, proteins, fats. It's what they need to survive. I don't need it anymore."

Castiel held his hands out in front of his face as though examining a bizarre insect or interesting artefact, "if I feel like this about food, what else has changed? Do I care about Bobby anymore, do I care about you..? I'm scared of losing my humanity…I don't want to find the other half of my Grace."

Castiel bit out the last part. The words left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He'd rather stay a grotesque abomination than abandon the part of him that made him Castiel Singer.

Dean dropped his burger back onto his plate with a thud. Slowly he wiped his hands on a paper napkin. Castiel was still staring at his hands, unaware of anything that Dean was doing.

With a snarl Dean lashed out. He gripped one of Castiel's hands in an unrelenting hold. Castiel's glowing eyes widened with shock. He tried to pull his hand away but the demon growled and his clasp was fast.

The pressure increased. Dean's hand was a vice. It tightened and tightened and tightened.

Castiel's free hand pushed at Dean's but the demon's eyes flicked to black, making the television broadcasting Jerry Springer cut out with a tired fizzle.

"Dean, let go!"

Bones began to buckle. Snap.

Castiel flinched, a gasp of pain leaving him as he felt the first of the bones break.

Dean's hand began to shake with the effort but he kept it up, the pressure building. "Listen here you pathetic shit," Dean began his expression furious and eyes onyx.

Castiel clenched his jaw, his wings flared above his head with the pain.

Dean snarled, pushing out another ounce of pressure.

Snap. Snap. Two bones this time.

Castiel couldn't help it as the pain fried his nerves. A ragged cry left him as he felt the bones shifting inside of his tortured hand.

The cry caught the waitress's attention whom had previously been smacking the TV in a vain attempt to get it working again. "Hey, what's going on you two?"

Dean's gaze shot over to the woman. With a jerk of his chin he drove her head against the top of the counter, knocking her out cold.

"Dean!"

Castiel's eyes sparked, dark shadows coalesced around his form.

Dean released his grip, allowing Castiel to cradle his broken hand to his chest. The shadows drained away and his wings drooped either side of him.

"Alright. Seeing as I've got your attention now…Look Cas. I ain't human, you told me that yesterday. In fact you also told me that being a demon didn't define who I was. I can be as good or as bad as I please, just like any human being."

Dean leaned over the table, laying a hand gently over Castiel's hand that twitched with fright. "You should take your own advice Cas. When you become a full angel-"

Castiel's mouth popped open to protest but Dean cut him off when his green eyes were overcome by shining black, "because you will become a full angel, otherwise you'll be butchered by demons all over again. So when you do go full holy warrior you can still enjoy a cheeseburger and love Bobby just as much as you did when you were still Mr Nobody the town priest."

Castiel nodded, lips fluffed in a pout.

"Now eat something and drink your coffee. Look at me, I don't need to eat or drink either."

Castiel's head shot up at that, "you mean I've been doling out my money when I didn't have to?"

Smirking, Dean lifted his cup to hide his lips behind the brim, "awkward." Glaring, Castiel took a chip from the basket, his throbbing hand resting against the cool table. "Did you have to break my hand to make your point though? Not to mention knocking out that poor woman."

Shrugging, Dean tucked back into his burger, tomato sauce smearing the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry, if angels are anything like demons your hand will be healed tomorrow morning, even without your powers."

Castiel made an appreciative hum as he popped a salty fry into his mouth.

"Thems the perks of a being a supernatural freak." Dean commented as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

They ate in peace, ignoring the white noise from the TV and the unconscious form of the waitress lying on the floor.

It made for an odd picture. A demon and a half angel eating in amicable silence in a shit hole diner on the edge of the highway.

But the peace was soon shattered.

Feral barks and howls echoed in the diner.

Dean dropped the fry he was about to eat, subconsciously wiping the crystals of salt down his jean legs.

Castiel looked around curiously, "what's wrong Dean?"

Dean slipped on his leather jacket, his tongue swiping his lips nervously. "You got that demon killing knife on you?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, sliding out of the booth and withdrawing the knife from his pocket.

Dean nodded, "good, because we got some Hellhounds incoming. We need to get to the Impala as quickly as we can."

The glass door of the diner shook in its frames as a monstrous black dog barrelled into it. Cracks spread like spider webs through the glass panel but the glass held momentarily.

Castiel stood transfixed, shoes glued to the spot. The dog was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its bulging muscles heaved beneath a thick coat of bristly hair, it's rotten yellow teeth snapped and snarled, spreading thick reddened phlegm over the glass. Blood oozed from its empty eyes sockets and misshapen nostrils.

Clapping a hand on Castiel's shoulder Dean wheeled him around, pushing him into the kitchen.

The glass door exploded, the hound's claws cleaved into the linoleum as it raced after its quarry.

Dean and Castiel sped through the kitchen, slipping on spilled grease and brushing past the lanky cook.

The man shouted at them, but his shouts soon turned into wet garbles as the hound leapt at the man's throat. It's teeth tore through his windpipe, blood flooded the tiled floor.

Dean grabbed Castiel's uninjured hand. Their palms were sweaty as they sprinted through the steam, until finally a wooden door stood in front of them. Dean shouldered his way through, the door flying from its rusted hinges with a boom. Castiel's trench coat whipped at his calves as they fled down the narrow alleyway.

The Impala sat at the end of the alley. Never had Castiel been happier to see it. But it wasn't close enough. The dog burst through the doorway and with a great lunge it reached Castiel, jaws snapping like thunderclaps. With a cry as ferocious as the beast's Castiel drove the blade in a feral downwards arch. The blade was nearly wrenched from his hand as it cracked the hound's skull in half; thick grey brain matter sprayed Castiel's wrist.

Dean held fast onto Castiel's hand tugging him along and with it the knife came free with a sickly squelch.

The hound writhed in agony, its brain leaked down into its empty eye sockets, filling the holes with viscous matter.

The Impala's doors were flung open as Dean and Castiel flung themselves into the car. Dean jabbed the key into the ignition and with a sharp turn started the engine. A bat out of hell the Impala screeched back onto the highway with the smell of burning rubber left in its wake.

Both men panted, gulping air back into their panicked lungs.

Dean threw his head back, a wild laugh erupting from his gut. "Man, you skewered that little bitch right through the head."

Castiel smiled despite the drumming of his heart.

Dean smiled back at Castiel, a wicked sparkle in his eyes, "now if that didn't make you feel human, I don't know what will."

Castiel huffed through his nostrils, "Actually I know something."

Still heady with adrenaline Castiel crashed his lips against Dean's, his tongue pushing through Dean's pliant lips. They didn't care that Dean couldn't see the road or when the car swerved. The sweet press of their hot tongues stroking and exploring each other was all that mattered.

For that one moment they forgot that Hell was snapping at their heels and Heaven was praying for them to fail.

* * *

><p>(AN: Just three more chapters left (which I hope to have up in 2 weeks)! I know there was a lot of dialogue but I hope it was OK and understood. Please leave a review and critique!)


	8. Eight for Heaven

They drove all night long. The Impala's slick black side cut through the dark shadows of midnight, taking them ever closer to Lost Lake. Mountains and valleys jutted up at the purpling horizon, like great teeth endeavouring to consume the sky. Castiel watched as a pale sun bobbed like driftwood over the distant mountains, lighting up the Impala's windscreen with sickly yellow and dusty pinks.

Dean squinted into the light; a heavy weight lent itself to his chest. But as he turned to the dulcet eyes of his lover hope fell back to him and made his heart buoyant in his chest.

"This is nearly it. There's no holding back now."

The smile that Castiel flashed him rivalled the sunrise. "Whatever happens Dean…" The car lurched forward as the orange needle of the odometer shot up. Dean grinned like a madman, "I don't think it needs to be said Cas." They leaned against each other on the leather bench, the warmth that was sandwiched between them lit them up like a star going supernova. A dying star.

A yellow sign whipped past the car.

Highway 19.

The pastels of the rising sun bled away, turning into a mesh of greys to catch the oncoming prey. The wind picked up - subtly at first. The pine trees framing the road swayed gently but soon began to buckle and bend like great Atlas himself.

Dean put his foot down harder, urging the Impala to go even quicker. It purred and roared but even its beatific sounds were drowned out by the howling and screeching wind. Castiel leaned forward in the seat, hands on the dashboard. "Is that what I think it is?"

Dean's jade green gaze was locked onto the twister hurtling towards them. It was a maddening destructive vortex that ripped apart the landscape, swallowing moss riddled boulders and gouging scars into the rich valley soil.

"We can't drive through that Dean! It's suicide!" Castiel cried cobalt eyes aglow with his fear. As if he never heard a word Dean pressed the 'play' button on the car's stereo system. AC/DC's _TNT _filtered through the tinny speakers.

Flashing his white teeth Dean dialled up the volume, "Cas do you trust me?"

Despite his better judgement Castiel leaned back in the seat. Normally this is the time he would have started praying, considering his life as a priest, but now doing such a thing seemed rudimentary, pointless. He knew deep in his soul, half-grace, whatever it was – the thing that sparked when Dean looked at him or blossomed whenever he thought about getting back home with Dean –he knew God wasn't listening anymore. And his brothers and sisters in Heaven were, as Dean would put it, 'dicks'. "Yes Dean I trust you."

Dean patted Castiel's warm thigh, "good" he uttered, gaze full of what Castiel hesitantly believed (but oh so wanted it to be true) was unspoken love.

The twister circled closer and closer, zigzagging this way and that. Almost playful. Yet there was only awe and terror to be inspired as the grey mass was drawn like a magnet to the highway. Soon the windscreen displayed nothing but the flotsam and jetsam dragged into the air.

Then the car hit it head on. Castiel flinched, expecting a shower of glass and harrowing wind but the car shuddered and ploughed on. Every window in the car framed the deadly gusts outside, they were two birds trapped in a delicate cage.

Dean exhaled a sharp hiss of air, the beginnings of a migraine thrummed at his temple. His blood was boiling with the power he was exuding. A tiny little bubble of energy surrounded the car; it sparked orange veins of lightning whenever a particularly large objet slammed into its side.

Castiel's gaze flicked over to Dean, brow corrugated with confusion, "Dean, are you doing this?" Blood began too ooze from the slit in Dean's lip, trickling wetly down his chin. They were nearly out of the twister. It wasn't much further and they weren't going to go up like Dorothy Dean swore to himelf.

The Impala rattled as though the winds were frustrated by their progress. Castiel's attention was torn between his demon lover and the rage outside.

Head and heart thumping in a strange duet Dean cracked open his eyes, watching with detachedness as the Impala bore ever closer to safety. The pain ratcheted up, black spots encroached in his vision, swallowing him whole.

"Dean!" Castiel scooted closer to Dean, hands cupping his stubble-roughened cheek. He watched as the demon slumped to the side, limp hands falling away from the steering wheel.

The bubble of power encasing the Impala flickered, making the black metal groan, and then went out like a sparkler finishing its fizz.

That terrible feeling when an elevator drops a floor, where your belly meets your throat assailed Castiel in an overly long moment. Flinging his body over Dean's, Castiel's wings arched protectively over Dean and himself. The Impala seemed airborne for minutes. Burrowing his head into Dean's shoulder Castiel braced himself for the inevitable impact.

Even though Castiel expected pain, it did nothing to prepare him.

The car crashed into the hillside with a deafening thud. Every bone in Castiel's body felt as if several cider blocks had been smashed into him. His mind was dark with the overwhelming pain, his brain shutting out the worst of it to preserve his sanity.

The Impala's metal clicked from the cooling engine in the silence that descended. Castiel stiffly moved his neck, groaning in anguish as he lifted his heavy head. The smell of rust pervaded his senses as his left eye was forced to close as a cut above his eyebrow bled profusely.

"Dean" Castiel croaked, "wake up." Dean shifted underneath him, a bruise was already forming on his cheek, a dark purple flower whose petals were unfurling. With jerking movements Castiel tried to sit up, his wings clumsily uncurling themselves from around Dean.

Dean's eyes were hooded, expression semi-delirious as he eyeballed the seat and steering wheel above him. "Damn it" he muttered, voice like gravel as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Dean coughed wetly, flecks of blood dotted his plump lips. "You alright Cas?"

The priest-turned-angel mutely nodded as he stared at a spot over Dean's shoulder. Lip curling Dean twisted to see what he was look at. In tired flaking letters was a wooden entrance sign proclaiming 'Lost Lake'.

Suddenly a set of dark jeans dissected the view. With a screech of metal the door was torn off and just as abruptly a hand thrust itself into the car, fingers digging into Dean's aching shoulder. Dean was yanked backwards out of the car, green eyes blinking rapidly as the sun rose in the steely sky overhead.

"Hello boys" Balthazar trilled happily as he kneeled down in the grass to yank Castiel out as well. The angel squawked indignantly as Balthazar pulled him out via handfuls of onyx feathers.

Castiel angrily ripped his wings away, wincing as the action pulled out several of his feathers with sharp tugs. Flicking the feathers away Balthazar stood back to appraise the wreckage of the car, "oh poor little beastie. I always liked Chevys."

Dean snorted though his nostrils, "yeah we're fine too, thanks for asking Balthazar. We were just thrown about in a twister. No big deal."

Balthazar clucked his tongue as he waved a hand over the both of them. Flesh knitted back together, blood was invisibly washed away and broken bones were melted back together again in seconds.

Breathing in deeply Castiel sighed with pleasure as the action didn't twinge or send a flare of pain down his neck. "Thanks Balthazar, but I thought you said you weren't going to help."

Gnawing at his lip Balthazar's cool blue gaze watched the sky, "well as you could probably tell there was nothing natural about the twister. Heaven is playing dirty and they're going to send someone to finish the job. I just happened to get here before them."

Castiel stepped forward, arms binding around Balthazar in a tight hug, "thank you Balthazar. You're the only brother I have left."

Dean chuckled gruffly as he watched the discomfort on Balthazar's face over Castiel's shoulder, "yes well, I'm here to hold them off whilst you go and get juiced up."

Castiel stepped next to Dean as they began to walk over the small grassy rise.

"Cas!" Balthazar called after them, the angel's eyes bright in the weak sunlight. Castiel stopped, turning to face his brother. "You know I'm not doing this just so I can have an easy existence, I'm doing this because you're the only brother I ever loved."

The feathers on Castiel's wings puffed with pleasure and his lips curved gently, "I know Balthazar. I'll find you after this is all over."

An affectionate smile spread over Balthazar's lips, "Dean" the angel intoned "look after Cassy, make sure nothing happens to him."

Dean rolled his jade hued eyes, "I was already trying that."

With that they disappeared down the dip of the hill, leaving Balthazar by the wreck of the Impala. The angel's golden-brown wings twitched with anticipation. He waited for the tell-tale signs of the sudden disturbance in the air or the tang of ozone. It came just as predicted. A red haired woman stood on the empty roadside, her heels crunched over the red and orange fragments of the Impala's rear lights. Seconds later another angel appeared, his broad face was stoic and his wings were a muted shade of ginger; this was an angel Balthazar didn't recognise.

With a twitch of her hand a silver blade descended into the female's relaxed grip. The twin sets of water hued eyes locked onto each other. "Anna" Balthazar whispered, the creases at the sides of his eyes deepened with sorrow, "why would you do this Anna? Out of all the angels you were one of the few who shed tears when Castiel died…"

Anna tilted her head, insect-like, "I have my orders. I learned the cost of disobedience when I tried to save Castiel last time, you too should learn that lesson."

In a blink she disappeared, the air gusting as her crimson wings teleported her behind Balthazar. Spinning away Balthazar narrowly missed the jab aimed for the nape of his neck. Balthazar's own sword appeared in his hand just in time as he parried a vicious swipe at his abdomen from the male angel, "I never thought I'd be a hero."

o…o…o

The metallic clang of swords rasping against one another met Dean and Castiel at the lake's edge.

The lake was beautiful, the water a serene dark blue. It had earned its name due to the high valleys and hills that hid it from the prying eyes of the world. Like a secret well of precocious blue ink it laid undisturbed in its shadowy bowl.

The air here was still, making the water seem like a mirror, which reflected the lazy thin clouds skirting the sky above.

Castiel's newly scuffed shoes trod over the pebbles lining the shore as he strode to the water's edge. Digging his hand into his pocket Castiel pulled out the golden necklace, the empty crystal glowed faintly once, then the light faded away. Dean stood and watched, subconsciously the demonic filter descended over his eyes at the pulse of remnant Grace.

Brow furrowed, Castiel fell to his knee as he tried to ignore the clang of swords that broke the peaceful atmosphere. Reverently Castiel laid his hand over the water, breathing in deep the crisp pure air of the lake. The cool water kissed his skin.

Castiel waited, he closed his eyes as he expected a response. The pleasant taste of the lake's atmosphere was soon overwhelmed by sickly bile that gurgled up into his mouth as the seconds ticked on.

Knees aching on the hard pebbles the half-angel looked up, eyes wet with moisture, "Dean, it's not here."

The demon descended onto his haunches so that he could plunge his hand into the icy water. Nothing. If there was Grace in the water he would have felt it like a hot burn as it would have subconsciously battered a demonic presence.

Castiel's nostrils flared as he kept the sting in his tears at bay. "Shit!" he cried, fingers fisting in his soft black hair. "It's not here! It's not in the lake!"

Panic, acidic and burning clenched at his heart, blanked his mind with its white curtain. His fingernails dug into his scalp as he felt his lungs constrict with the lack of oxygen. Rising to his feet Dean ducked as a wing fluttered his way in panic. Quickly Dean laid his hands either side of Castiel's face, one hand clammy with the lake's water, "Balthazar didn't say it was _in _the lake! He said it was _here! _Remember?"

Slowly Castiel's gaze met Dean's emotive green eyes, they relayed the need for calm and hidden deep in their speckled depths, the demon still had hope. Dragging in a shaky breath Castiel licked his lips as his eyes travelled from Dean's eyes and noticed the light smattering of freckles.

Dean leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss to Castiel's dry lips. "We'll find it. Balthazar's holding back the angels. We'll do it."

"Oh dear, oh dear Dean. That red headed bitch of an angel is the least of your worries."

Dean's hands withdrew themselves from Castiel's flesh as he turned to face the owner of the voice. He would recognise that voice from anywhere. It was drawling but cunning, like a snake whispering through long grass.

"Alastair" Dean bit out. Energy crackled at Dean's fingertips, red light cracked like a whip as Dean's eyes turned black.

Alastair's smile dropped from his face, his lips peeled back to show his shining gums and nicotine yellow teeth. Six demons were at Alastair's side; they trembled at the biting static that snapped from Dean's fingers.

Castiel's eyes widened with realisation; this was the demon that Dean had been frightened of, the one that had torn him apart – body and mind. Castiel's wings flared defensively, the long dark feathers hissed as they stretched to intimidate the demons.

One demon's foot slipped against the pebbles with a clatter, betraying his cowardice. Alastair's dead eyes flicked dispassionately to the demon, "this angel's been neutered. He's got no powers. There's no reason for you to be cowed."

Castiel smirked, lifting his chin in defiance, which earned a hot shiver from Dean, "yes, I suppose the Hell Hound may have thought that too before I split its head in half." As Castiel spoke he withdrew the demon-killing blade from underneath his trench coat.

Dean sidestepped closer to Castiel, he whispered against the shell of the angel's ear, "We're not going to win against seven demons Cas. I might be able to handle Alastair by myself, but one powerless angel with a pig-sticker against six lackeys dredged fresh out of Hell by Alastair…the chances aren't good."

Castiel's grip tightened on the blade, he began to shake his head, throat dry like sandpaper, but Dean spoke before the angel could cut in "Balthazar had the right idea…If I can hold these demons back like he's doing with that angel I can buy you the time to find your Grace."

Dean paused, his breath tickling against Castiel's ear, "then you can come out and smite these demons with whatever awesome powers God blessed you with."

Castiel sighed in resignation but nodded his assent. Dean breathed in Castiel's scent; woody incense and lavender soap, "I l-…"

Alastair laughed darkly, thin lips stretching like old leather, "are you two done?"

Rolling his shoulders with a pop Dean put himself between the demons and Castiel, "we were just deciding how to kill you pathetic little maggots."

With that Dean shot his hand up, releasing the demonic energy that he had gathered. Ruby tendrils of energy twisted and flickered together forming a lance as it shot into one of the demon's chest. Violet tinged smoke erupted from the gaping bloody hole as the energy dissipated. Blood pumped and splattered the demon's hiking boots. The demon never uttered a noise as his body fell, already dead, to the pebbles.

The other demons lunged like a well-synchronised pack of wolves; Dean hurriedly gathered more energy to himself, throwing it out in an arc that pushed the demons back a step.

"Run Cas! Go!"

Pivoting on his heel Castiel ran, wings batting at the air to lend him speed.

The noises of Balthazar and Dean fighting for their lives battered his back.

He needed to find the rest of his Grace, and quickly, or his only real brother and the man he loved would die at the lakeside.

The only problem was, however, he had no idea where to find it.

* * *

><p>(AN: The next episode is the climax. Lots of stuff is going to happen! Reviews motivate me to update quicker (and critique would be appreciated).


	9. Nine for Hell

The demons circled Dean, trapping them in their throng. Alastair stood at the apex, his blunt teeth rubbing over his lower lip in straining white lines. "Dean, I expected more from one of Hell's best."

Anger was stamped upon Dean's brow as he glared into Alastair's mirthful eyes, "I'm going to rip you apart Alastair if it's the last thing I do."

The demon directly behind Dean snarled baring wicked dog like fangs, the others inched closer. Dean felt his heart pitter-patter against his ribcage; already he had worked up a sweat.

Alastair raised a hand, "boys, go after the angel. I'll be keeping Dean busy" Alastair spoke through a smirk, hands planted at the jut of his hips. Growling, Dean pounced on the demon to his left, throwing them both to the ground in a confused heap. If he couldn't keep them all busy he'd sure as Hell take down as many as he could. Dean heard the pebbles rubbing against one another as the four other demons up and left, unconcerned for the one Dean was hunched over. Tightening his thighs around the demon, Dean jerked his head to the side, narrowly dodging the claws that swiped at his eyes.

Glancing up Dean spied Alastair leisurely making his way over. Fist brimming with crackling demonic energy Dean drove it down against the demon's throat. There was a satisfying crack and a splutter of incomprehension, the demon's black eyes widening as its neck was snapped in several places.

The clink of chains skipping over the lake's pebbles had Dean springing to his feet, putting a metre between himself and Alastair.

Alastair spread his hands placatingly that slimy smirk never faltering on his cracked lips. "I'll forgive you Dean if you hunt down that abomination and return to Hell with me."

Dean stared at the creature before him, the apparition of his true form blinking in and out of focus as Alastair's anger struggled to be bottled. Only days before he had let this demon brutalise him and touch him, tell him sordid lies and deceive him. Let him torture him for centuries, ringing out his intestines eventually turning him into what he was today. Filthy God-forsaken Hell spawn.

"No Alastair, I'm sick of fearing you. I'm going to wipe your stain from existence so that no one will have to suffer under your blade again."

Alastair chest rumbled with aggression, his head rolling back in a series of eldritch clicks and snaps, his eyes flicking to white.

More of his true form peeked through the veil, curved spikes in his skin dotted the bloody silver chains and tiny razor blades puckered at his skin, as though they were insects trying to escape his pungent flesh.

"Deaaaan." He cried eyes white and manic.

Dean closed his eyes for a brief moment, imagining the comforting brush of feathers against his shoulder and twin reservoirs of startling sapphire eyes. Snapping his eyes open Dean nurtured his resolve deep in his chest. Alastair stalked towards him, bestial grunts puffing from his mouth he gathered his own brand of power around him. Yellow light pulsed and trailed over the chains, infusing the higher demon with power.

With a Hunter's fury Dean flung out his fist, landing a solid punch to Alastair's gut. The demon huffed as the air was forced from his lungs, but used the close quarters to tangle his fingers in Dean's hair. Kicking out Dean stamped at Alastair's shin, hoping to break the bone. Energy sparked, his foot connecting with a barrier.

Alastair snarled, swiping Dean's feet from under him forcing the lesser demon to gasp in pain as his weight was suspended from the hair in Alastair's grasp. Alastair pursed his lips, whistling an off-key tune as he dragged Dean's struggling form to the water.

When the water lapped against his ankles Alastair smirked, driving Dean face down into the icy water. Dean gasped at the sudden burst of cold, inhaling water into his lungs. Alastair held him down, singing merrily to himself, notes an eerie echo in the lake basin.

Dean's fingers scrabbled against the lakebed, trying to find anything that would help.

With a heave, Alastair lifted Dean's face from out of the water, smugly satisfied by the rasping hurried breaths of his student. "I'm going to kill you Dean, nice and slow. Just like our old times in the Pit together."

Dean smirked through the water running down his face, a sharp pebble bit into his palm as he clenched his fingers around it. Twisting onto his side Dean ignored the bloody tear of his hair being wrenched from his scalp, driving the sharp rock into Alastair's chest. The demon stumbled back, more in surprise than pain. Unrelenting Dean pushed himself across the rocks, falling onto Alastair's twisted form. Again and again he drove the rock down, tearing the flesh and skin from Alastair's chest in feral swipes; mimetic of the Hell Hound's claws that had taken Dean to Hell.

Dean was thrown off in a spout of Alastair's brutal demonic energy; it felt as though an anvil had smacked against his chest. Rolling to his side Dean felt a howl of pain bubbling in his throat, his ribs moved awkwardly, pressing against his lung in harrowing scraping sensations.

Bloodied, Alastair brought himself back onto his feet, a slight stumble as blood dripped from the dozens of gashes that furrowed his chest. "Dean." He trilled as he swung his foot out into Dean's face. Dean's teeth slammed together, head lurched backwards and tongue swimming in a pool of blood.

Another kick, this time to his broken ribs.

Crying out his agony Dean squinted up into Alastair's face as the demon reached down, picking him up effortlessly by his shoulders. Alastair swung his arms back, throwing Dean against the unrelenting bark of a tree.

Mud soothed the deep cut burning into the side of his face, ushering in a calm to his agony riddled mind. Bringing his knees under him Dean emptied his last reservoir of energy, this, no matter what happened, was it.

Boots squelching on the mud Alastair kneeled next to Dean, arm laying itself over Dean's back. "You were one of the best" Alastair lisped, spitting blood from his mouth, "I'll miss our sessions together."

The arm on Dean's back moved, slithering until Alastair's palm cupped the nape of Dean's neck, one final crush to his spine and the demon would be dead. Goosebumps pricked at Dean's flesh, a shiver rolling down his spine at the cold touch.

Dean turned his head to look into Alastair's eyes he wanted to savour this moment. Slowly Dean edged his hand closer, ignoring Alastair's fingers as they began to clamp down on his neck, fingernails cutting through his skin.

Alastair smiled with triumph, his face upturned to feel the hot radiance of the sun. Dean took the opportunity and with a swift uppercut of his fist Dean felt warm blood and pliant organs surrounding his hand.

Gasping, Alastair slipped off of Dean, gasping and writhing like a snake's body freed of its venomous head. Pulling his hand free from the gaping hole in Alastair's gut, Dean wiped the visceral blood and tissue onto Alastair's trousers. Licking his lips Dean leaned over Alastair's face absorbing every detail as he watched Alastair's soul fading from his eyes, muscles trembling and fluids discharging themselves from the dying body.

He'd savour the last gasp of Alastair to the end of his days.

o...o…o

Castiel ran into the shade of the pine tress, their needles crunching under his shoes. Each huff of breath grated at his raw throat, his body ached for relief; each straining muscle felt raw and bleeding like a wound left to fester.

Snarls and heavy foot beats following him heralded the end an, end, which he refused to succumb to. Castiel's shivering fingers held the knife fast in his hand, afraid that even with the slightest release of pressure it would slip free. The half-angel held no illusion that the four demons chasing after him would eventually catch up. He could smell their bile inducing sulphur and when he peeked over his shoulder he caught glimpses of their true forms. Each one was unique and macabre and sent a spike of heady adrenaline flooding his body.

Castiel nimbly leapt over a fallen log, trench coat snapping over the moss covering the bark. He landed on his feet, but with a strange vertigo his left foot didn't quite meet the ground, the feeling was reminiscent of missing a step you expected to be there.

His black shoe plummeted through a deep hole, disguised by the thick leaf litter. With a yelp Castiel felt his ankle twist unnaturally, the muscles and tendons flared with pain. Hissing, Castiel dragged his foot out of the hole, uncaring for the further tears he inflicted.

The snarl was what gave the demon away. The demon, Castiel intrinsically knew, was a demon of gluttony. It landed upon him, meaty fists clutching at the lapels of his trench coat. Its true form flickered like a mirage over his face, yellow pustules seemed to pop and ooze over his cheeks, filling the creature's scabbed lips with the viscous substance.

Castiel could smell the reek of puss, his stomach turning. Desperate to escape the demon before the others caught up Castiel jabbed the demon-killing blade under one of the demon's ribs, hoping to hit its heart. It howled in pain, as more of the sunflower yellow fluid oozed from the wound.

Drawing back a fist it punched Castiel squarely in the nose, breaking the delicate cartilage and rupturing capillaries. White bursts of light blinded Castiel, head ringing from the blow. Again, Castiel drew back the knife, feeling it scrape against the demon's ribs, he thrust it, slightly higher. The demon stilled, head lolling back as its eyes widened. Eager to be rid of the demon's carcass Castiel rolled it off him and drew himself to his feet. The other demons rounded the bend, their lips cracked in grins as they saw their prey prone on the floor.

Scrabbling, Castiel regained his footing and plunged on further into the trees surrounding the lake's edge. His bleeding nose pulsed in tempo with his heart and fleet pace.

Like a lightning strike, light filled the shallow dip the lake sat in, freezing Castiel and the demons behind him in place, as though posing for a photograph. Castiel felt it deep inside, a pang of loss. Breathing in the spicy musk of the pines Castiel carried on. It was an angel, but it wasn't Balthazar…strange how he knew that.

Castiel pushed his sore legs forward, ignoring one of the demons as it cried, "let us gut you, you prick of an angel!"

What Castiel lacked in the strength and endurance the demons possessed, he more than made up for it in desperation and terror. But like wolves chasing their game, their tenacity would pay off.

Another burst of light, quickly followed by another.

Castiel slowed, mouth agape as his gaze flew to the ridge where he knew Balthazar had been fighting. That last surge of Grace that had been expunged was Balthazar's. Old images of his time in Heaven with Balthazar flooded Castiel like an old movie. Castiel's eyes welled, his chest felt tight. That last brotherly smile that Balthazar had shone at him seemed to float above his eyes like a ghostly, final, portrait.

"Balthazar…" Castiel murmured, leaning against a curve in the soil. Tremors shook his legs, the frenetic energy from before wiped from him with the aching loss. Castiel leaned against the moist leaves covering the bank, and yelped in surprise when he fell backwards.

Stone met his head with a sharp crack, making the angel curse in Enochian. Curling up on his flank Castiel's hand went to his scalp, fingers threading through his hair to feel for blood. With nothing there Castiel tried to ignore the lump he could feel swelling like a ripe fruit and stood tenuously to take in his new surroundings.

Weak sunlight filtered in through the vines and leaves that had clogged up the crevice in the bank's wall, illuminating a deep cave that stretched downwards in a gentle slope like a giant's gullet.

Swallowing the tightness in his throat, Castiel's fingertips ran along the moist walls for guidance, stepping into the impenetrable darkness of the tunnel.

Sounds were amplified, each drop of water was a grenade going off and his own breaths were the huffs of a steam train in his ears. A distant light, down at the end of the tunnel broke the cloying darkness.

Castiel's fingers strayed from the wall as he strode down the tunnel, ignoring all his aches and injuries. He was a moth drawn to the light. The black wings on his back shuddered and jumped, disturbing the still air.

Castiel's ocean coloured eyes began to glow fiercely until they were almost white, two fearsome orbs in the darkness.

As Castiel reached the end of the tunnel a gasp left him. He turned about in wonderment, his whole form cloaked in a dazzling array of bright blue and white light. The end of the tunnel was a circular room, where each surface shone with a display of quartz-like crystal. It was as if he had stepped out of a black hole and into the Milky Way itself, each crystal was a burning star on a canvas of black leather. Castiel touched one of the cool fragments on the wall nearest to him; it pulsed and brightened at his touch as though it purred with pleasure. Castiel walked around the crystals that jutted from the floor, clear spears whose points were sharpened to a lethal apex. The crystals grew thickest at the centre, where slightly higher than the rest a huge crystal grew from the black stone floor but its top was flat and smooth, polished like a giant mirror. Castiel's heart thudded in his chest, his blood boiled with excitement. For at the centre of its even surface was a minute crystal, one that no one else would have noticed. Castiel felt the Grace already inside of him burn and thrum, reacting to its lost half.

So distracted was he that he never noticed the demons creeping down the tunnel after him. They crouched and breathed lightly behind the ex-priest, until all three struck at once.

Two grabbed his arms, twisting them to tightly pin them against Castiel's back. The angel shouted in alarm, the demon-blade falling from his grip with a loud clatter onto the stone floor. The third demon stepped forward, scooping up the blade and lazily twirling it in the light exuded by the crystals.

"So close" the pride demon murmured, "yet so far Castiel."

Castiel struggled to wrench his arms free, his wings flared angrily and bristled, but the black feathers did nothing but make the demon's sadistic grin spread wider.

"You gave us all a chase but it's over." The pride demon's face distorted for a moment, the veneer of humanity slipping away in its lax merriment at having caught its prize. Its eyes were hollow husks filled with a writhing green mass, its skin was composed of flaking scales and its nose was gone entirely, leaving only a set of malformed holes.

Raising the knife it stepped up to Castiel, laying its overly warm and sweaty body against Castiel's chest. The demon's lips hovered over Castiel's earlobe, its bitter breath misting over Castiel's skin. "Or maybe I'll see what Dean likes about you so much, huh? We've got all the time in the world seeing as he's probably dead right now along with that blonde angel. No one's coming to save you."

A flare of fury went off in Castiel, a savage animalistic snarl consumed him as he wrenched one of his arms free from a demon's relaxed grasp. Castiel dug his fingers down into the wriggling eye sockets inset in the pride demon's face. The demon cried in anguish as Castiel hooked his fingers, nails digging into something spongy and heavy with water.

Using the distraction Castiel pried his other arm free, nearly tearing his arm from his socket. The pride demon squealed and thrashed, hands clapped over his face, "don't stand there you idiots, kill him!"

The remaining demons turned, flinging themselves at Castiel. With a swift turn Castiel moved out of the way, the demon's fingers only whispering against the fringes of his tattered trench coat. Shoes sliding over the treacherous floor Castiel latched onto the flat surface of the central crystal. A demon's arm wrapped itself around his throat; the forearm began to crush his windpipe, dragging him away from the remainder of his Grace. Choking, Castiel clung to the crystal like a life raft; his fingers scrabbled against the surface, desperate to reach his Grace.

The other demon reached him, hand falling like the headsman's axe to his shoulder. With a last surge of desperate strength Castiel's fingertips splayed against the surface, windpipe crushed inside his throat, blood rising sticky and hot to his mouth.

Light, an atom bomb, sprung suddenly to life in the cave as Castiel's fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the missing piece of himself. The demons clinging to him were eviscerated from existence, their fleshy forms disintegrated into a thin ash that dotted the air and their souls were wiped from existence with a fizz.

The pride demon looked up in awe and in a fitful bout of horror turned, stumbling to escape the cave. It screamed and sobbed at the angel that glared down at it, its wings had grown larger; monstrous black shadows that ate away at the light emanating from the crystals. Castiel followed the demon, brimming with righteous fury. This demon did not deserve salvation, the strange thought sprung to the forefront of his mind. Castiel moved from the grotto, so silently it was as though there were a layer of air cushioning his shoes from the cave floor. The crystals in their hollow began to splinter and crack; until they all collapsed in on themselves; shattering into a million pieces.

The cave was drenched in a dark deeper than an ocean trench, more despairing than the maw of Hell. The demon was blind in the blackness; it groped uselessly at the walls, feet slipping as his knees shook.

Two bright blue eyes were before him, aflame with God's own blessed fire.

"I-" the demon began, tongue rolling uselessly in his head, "please! Please no!"

This thing wasn't an angel; it was something more, something fathomless. Something he had no hope of understanding or reasoning with.

In a flutter of glossy feathers the angel's hand gripped his throat, burning him away from the inside, until the pride demon too was obliterated.

"Cas?" Dean's voice was thin, stringed out. Beaming with the joy of victory Castiel sprinted from the cave. He found Dean bloodied and grinning, face pale with blood loss under the brown mud and drying scabs on his face.

"Holy shit Cas, you look great," the demon announced, green gaze jubilant and sparkling.

Castiel couldn't help but feel his Grace swell with adoration, "you're not frightened?"

Dean shook his head. "Not anymore Cas."

A hand plunged itself through Dean's chest.

Alastair leaned his flayed chest against Dean's back, his chin propped up against Dean's shoulder as he rotated his wrist inside of him. Gasping, Dean's vision flickered, the world around him a heat haze as his mind slowly started going blank. Fingers wriggling and dripping blood, Alastair's voice crackled wetly, "if I'm going to die Dean…I'm taking you with me."

Dean's knees gave way, his head lolling as black blood flooded his chest and legs with its steaming heat. Alastair's hand slipped free with a wet rasp. They fell, facing each other; mentor and student.

They stared into each other's eyes across the dry pine needles, Alastair's gaze full of ecstasy as his last breath left him in a wet exhale, whilst Dean's were full of hate, hate for this demon that had taken everything from him. His humanity, Heaven with Sammy and now his life; a life he had hoped to share with Castiel.

"Dean!" Castiel cried, falling to the blood slicked ground next to Dean's shivering body. The angel lifted the demon to his lap, unfeeling of the warmth of blood seeping through the cotton of his trousers and bathing his skin. Blinking up at him Dean smiled, placing his palm against Castiel's tear streaked cheek. The fires around Dean's true form began to fizzle and smoke, the orange embers in his green eyes dying, going out.

"Cas" the demon uttered, smoke whirling against deathly pale skin. "Dean I can save you" Castiel cried, tears dripping from his stubble kissed chin. They both knew it was a lie; the grisly hole that tunnelled its way through Dean wasn't the problem. Dean's soul was fractured, its demonic essence hissed and spit as it died like flames in the rain. Dean sighed, fingers flexing in Castiel's short silky hair. "I'm so glad I met you."

Dean's eyes rolled back in his head, lips parted and breath gurgling as blood made pathways it was never meant to travel. Castiel's grip tightened around the man's body, head splitting, mind reeling with the shock, the pain, the disbelief.

Finally Dean's eyes flickered close, the smile though never erred.

"Dean…" Castiel murmured, staring through a misty haze. "Dean!" Castiel cried, the name wrenched from the centre of his being. Invisible fissures and cracks split his chest as he buried his face into the cooling blood that flowed down Dean's neck.

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><p>(AN: Review for a speedy update and critique is welcome!)


	10. and Ten for the Devil's own Sell!

_The magpie is the most callous creature that God ever created. Worse than the crow who brought back no sign of land and worse yet than the snake that tempted Eve. This is because the magpie was the only creature that did not shed a tear at Christ's crucifixion. _

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><p>There was a cold seeping through the lapels of his trench coat, it reached all the way through his black priest shirt and left a cloak of frost against his skin.<p>

He held Dean's body tightly to his chest, like some macabre version of a bridal carry. But Dean's arms slapped limply against his thighs, eyes closed and skin pale, flecks of blood were bright lurid spots that painted his lips. The mid-morning sun did nothing to sweep away the chill as Castiel walked down to the lake, mind blank, a white page on which nothing was written.

The water was still a flat, unmarred surface, it was one of those strange moments of detached lucidity, where Castiel realised that the world moved on, uncaring for the passing of one soul.

The pebbles that hugged the lake crunched under foot as Castiel stepped towards the edge. It was strange how light Dean seemed to be in his arms, yet how heavy his own body felt. Glancing down at the water, Castiel felt the burn of tears prick his eyes. In perfect clarity his reflection was transposed on the water as though it were a looking glass.

His face was haggard and pale; the whites surrounding his blue irises were enflamed. His wings drooped at his side, feathers dragging against the chill ground. But Castiel didn't focus on any of that. A torture, dreamt up by only the most sadistic minds had him staring at the ghastly picture of his beloved dead in his arms. This thing draped between his arms wasn't Dean, he knew that. When he had conducted funerals in his church he had never quite understood the wails and cries of loss that had echoed off the cold stones. Now those memories of agony were a poor imitation of the hollow burning that gnawed away at his insides. Never would he see that sparkle of mischief in Dean's jade green eyes, or notice how his canine worried his plump rosy lips when Dean had been staring at him nor feel the soft coaxing heat of his fingers against his flesh.

Castiel sank down onto his knees, feeling salty water track alabaster lines through the black scabs of dried blood.

He sat there for a long time. Birds passed overhead as the sun tracked over the sky, till even the dark shadows of the valleys were washed away by the bright golden rays of the bloated orb sitting in the sky above him.

Castiel raised his head, eyelids leaden as he blinked them in an attempt to banish the fatigue he felt. Dean's weight still rested on his lap, unmoving.

Something warm pulsed in his pocket, an insistent tug that made Castiel's stiff fingers finally move away from Dean's motionless chest. He dug into his trouser pocket, feeling spongy lint, until something hard brushed against his fingers. Tugging it out of his pocket Castiel stared at his golden necklace, the one that had been hidden in the mantelpiece back at Bobby's.

Swiping his tongue over his chapped lips Castiel raised it up to his eyes, gazing at the crystal dangling from it as it emitted friendly little pulses of white light. Castiel let the gold chain run through his fingers, allowing the crystal to touch Dean's torn red shirt. Each pulse seemed to come quicker than the last, music that was speeding up, racing to reach the climax of the tender song. It flashed and the crystal began to distort, dripping like ice melting on a fair morning. Similar to the consistency of mercury, it landed in wet heavy thuds against Dean's chest. As the pregnant droplets splattered against his shirt, they disappeared, as they were absorbed into Dean's flesh, caressing the dead man's skin with a silver light. Soon there was nothing left of the crystal, only the fine links of gold remained.

Castiel's breath was tightly bottled in his chest, he dare not breathe lest the sound shatter whatever it was that was happening.

The gaping hole in Dean's gut grew smaller and smaller; flesh, veins and blood vessels knitted themselves back together, a delicate tapestry woven by invisible fingers. Smooth tanned skin spread over the gaping wound till Dean's body was whole once more; perfectly formed skin pulled taut over the contours of his muscles.

Castiel didn't dare smile, just kept a small flicker of hope in him. But as the minutes wore on and nothing else occurred he felt himself grow faint, skin clammy and stomach dropping. Dean was still dead. It had been some cruel cosmic joke.

Castiel laid his palm against Dean's cheek, thumb caressing the coarse stubble.

He heaved a great breath and closed his eyes.

Everything around the lakeside stilled. Orange leaves were frozen mid air, a magpie that swooped down from the sky hung like a puppet.

Castiel paid it no heed as he followed a strange instinct. He explored that dark fathomless pit inside of himself and stared at the bright flaming orb of Grace that was settled at the centre of his being. Intrinsically he knew, that it was different. God's blessing left an obvious mark on his Grace, it was a spot, a brilliant opal, planted on his Grace that shone with a myriad of greens, purples and blues. Castiel reached for it and felt the power ripple down his arm, cool water that trickled to his fingertips and fell to Dean.

Behind Castiel's delicate eyelids the scenery changed, swapping from his Grace to the vast domain of the demon's inner being. At the forefront was a twisting black mass, the thing screamed and howled, black ooze dripped from the rusted iron chains that entangled it. Castiel felt himself look harder, deeper, deeper than any angel could ever hope to gaze lest they be driven to a madness that rivalled Lucifer's. The 'opal' however protected him, deflecting the stream of sulphur and Hell's brimstone as Castiel made his way through the torrent of sticky blackness, until he finally touched upon a tiny grain of ivory light.

It had been lost beneath Hell's taint for a very long time. It was delicate and thin, a shard of an eggshell just waiting to break and be gone forever. Castiel cupped his hands aground it and gently dragged it to the surface, as though he were pulling a drowning man from the bottom of the ocean. The little shard trembled but held fast, the oozing mass of Hell screeched and writhed as it was forced to bend, flowing either side of Castiel's pale hands. As it reached the surface Castiel allowed his Grace to manifest inside of Dean, wiping away Hell's pollution, banishing it from Dean's soul. Until all that remained was the powerful white shard; Dean's lost humanity, his soul.

Castiel's eyes flicked open, meeting a bright bottle green gaze.

"Hey Cas." Dean rasped out, voice like broken glass as he smiled up at him, eyes crinkling at the edges.

The magpie flew overhead, his shadow passing without notice.

"Hello Dean," Castiel murmured, thumb wiping away a tear that rippled down the edge of Dean's nose. He wasn't sure whom it belonged to.

Dean struggled to sit up but flinched, warm back resting against Castiel's strong legs.

"Why does everything hurt Cas?"

Castiel smiled benevolently, a laugh burbling over his lips, water brimming from a glass, "because you're human Dean."

o…o…o

They found themselves back at Bobby's, with nowhere else to go but with no need to hide anymore.

Both of them stood at the rectangle of dark soil, the smell of fresh earth sill perfuming the area. A small sapling, bark the hue of caramel stood at the head of Balthazar's grave.

Castiel leaned against Dean, grateful for his support in more ways than one. A few days had passed since burying Balthazar's body, but the sting Castiel felt in his Grace was still raw and bleeding, a burn that still throbbed. Dean wound an arm around Castiel's waist whilst his other hand toyed with the comforting golden chain encircling his throat.

"Excuse me" a young feminine voice called, causing both angel and human to turn, facing the unexpected guest. She held herself with confidence, arms crossed over her breasts with rich mahogany hued hair and pale green eyes that burrowed into Dean's, as if to challenge her being there. "My name's Bela" she began "and I heard you were the angel to talk to about becoming human again."

Dean smiled sardonically, rocking back on his heels, as he looked the demon up and down, taking in her black leather jacket and smart grey pants, "I thought I smelled rotten eggs."

Castiel shot a glare at Dean, nudging him slightly as he walked past the human.

"Bela" Castiel intoned, lips a hard line and gaze unblinking as he peered into her soul, "you are aware that in most cases the demon does not survive."

Bela stared over the white shirt that clad Castiel's shoulder, noticing the burned remains of a funeral pyre, a stark threat of a likely consequence.

Inhaling a deep breath Bela nodded, brown curls jumping with the motion, "It's worth the risk…I'm not cut out for being a demon."

Castiel gestured for her to come closer and with a slight tremble to her step she crossed over the bare soil of Bobby's junk yard, putting herself in front of Castiel.

Raising his hand, Castiel laid his palm on her shoulder, causing the demon to gasp with fright. She looked up at him, eyes widening with pain as light began to infuse her form.

Dean turned his back to the scene, eyes clenched tight. But even with his eyelids scrunched shut and after the sounds of Bela's screams died down, he could still see the power of Castiel's Grace from behind the thin lids of flesh.

"You can open your eyes now Dean."

Blinking rapidly, Dean turned on his heel, a small thrill of shock going through him when he saw Bela standing there in one piece.

She smiled, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, "thank you" Bela gasped.

"It is my pleasure Bela. Live a long life. I hope to see you in Heaven one day."

With a stiff nod Bela turned away, walking out of Bobby's junkyard never to be seen or heard from again.

o…o…o

By the time Dean and Castiel pushed through Bobby's front door dusk had descended upon the sky, transforming the blue horizon into a dark purple, tinged at the corners with the sun's final gold rays.

Bobby looked up from his chair in the study as they entered, completely healed thanks to Castiel. The older man smiled affectionately at both his son and the newer addition to his family, through the waning light of day. Scarlet bloomed on Dean's cheeks at the attention paid to him, and grabbing Castiel's hand in his own he made a hasty retreat to his bedroom, dragging the all too willing Castiel behind him.

As the door slammed closed behind them Dean whipped around, leaving Castiel no choice but to lean against the door.

They stared at each other for a moment before Dean smirked and balancing on the heels of his feet his tongue followed the line of Castiel's jaw line, teeth nipping at the angel's earlobe playfully.

Castiel's chest rumbled as he tucked his hands underneath Dean's white shirt, fingers skittering over the band of Dean's underwear. "What took you so long?" Castiel whispered against Dean's skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through him.

In a blink Castiel was gone, the gentle hush of feathers alerting Dean to Castiel's presence behind him.

With a playful growl Dean pushed Castiel back against the bed, making the angel stumble and fall onto the blankets with a whoosh of air. Before the mattress had settled Dean was upon the angel, ravenous, hands trailing up the hard flesh of Castiel's flanks. Dean pressed his burning, clothed erection up against Castiel's own need, groaning low in his throat at the delicious friction. Canting his hips up Castiel mouthed at Dean's neck, laving his pulse with his wet tongue. Shuddering, Dean's legs spread further apart, till his shins were resting on either side of Castiel's legs. Smirking Castiel flipped Dean over, panting in the humid air, laden with the smell of salt and the faint beginnings of semen.

Dean cried out wantonly, pulling at Castiel's white button down shirt with greedy desperate fingers. Castiel grinned, making both of their clothes disappear with a thought, except for the golden chain that glimmered against Dean's tanned throat. The wet needy head of Dean's erection spread pre-come between their sweat slicked bodies, making Castiel grind his own erection against the perfect sweaty divots of Dean's belly.

Dean looked down at his naked form, lust blown pupils ravaging Castiel's own body, making the angel blush despite himself. Chuckling, Dean sat up, fingers carding through Castiel's hair, tugging it, to bring the angel's lips against his own.

Nipping at the sensitive lips, Castiel opened his mouth allowing Dean's tongue to slip in, warm and talented. Their tongues splayed against each other, exploring and fighting for dominance until Dean parted with a gasp. "Do angels need to breathe?"

Castiel smirked, teeth running white lines over his shining, swollen lips.

Growling slightly, Dean latched onto Castiel's shoulders, putting the creature under him in one fluid motion. Dean hovered over Castiel, cock aching in the tepid air of the bedroom. He crouched over the powerful being that was laid down before him on its back. The thought of finally being able to claim and mark this angel as his own sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock, making it twitch with eagerness.

Resting on his one hand Dean let the other explore the perfect canvas of Castiel's chest, nails nicking intentionally over one of the hardened nipples. Castiel's eyes clenched shut in a hiss of delightful pain. Dean's fingers moved to Castiel's face, cupping the sweat damp cheek and thumb running over the rosy dust that painted Castiel's skin. Popping his fingers into Castiel's mouth the angel hummed, tongue darting between the appendages, coating them with saliva.

Withdrawing them with a wet suck Dean moved the fingers down to Castiel's entrance, teasing the flinching ring of muscles as he traced it in teasing circular motions. Castiel's back arched into the touch, silently begging for Dean to breach him, break him apart. As though sensing the thought Dean's first finger slid in, pushing past the clenching muscles and into the scalding velvety heat. Castiel closed his sapphire eyes against the intrusion, heavy black lashes kissing the sheen of his cheek. Wantonly he spread his legs, the burn from the first finger subsiding. Dean added a second finger, watching the ripple of pain and pleasure work its way through Castiel's body as his fingers clenched at the white, damp sheets.

"Dean…" Castiel panted out, cock pulsing hot beneath Dean's luscious sun kissed skin, "stop teasing."

Dean heaved in a breath, body shaking with need and _want. _Taking his blood-heavy cock in hand Dean positioned the sensitive head at Castiel's wet entrance. Slowly he eased his way in, hissing as the blinding tightness enveloped his cock. Castiel groaned, head thrown to the side as he felt Dean's cock splitting him open, claiming him.

Dean stilled above Castiel waiting for the angel to adjust before moving. Dean's right hand clenched at the dip of Castiel's hip, holding the angel in place whilst the other hand splayed the sheets next to Castiel's flank. Opening his eyes once more Castiel's free hand went to the hard curve of Dean's ass, urging the human to move with a forceful press.

Hips canting backwards Dean felt his cock slide inside of Castiel's channel with only the head of his cock trapped in the mind numbingly good muscles at the entrance, and then with a fluid thrust he seated himself fully. Castiel felt the thread in him grow tighter and tighter, each breath coming quicker than the last.

Pivoting his hips again Dean drove in and out, finding a steady rhythm as he groaned and moaned Castiel's name, prayers obscenely falling from his lips. Castiel cried out, fingers digging painfully into Dean's shoulder as the head of his lovers cock hit the little bundle of nerves inside of him. Dean's rhythm began to fall apart as he felt his own need building, jerking spasms of his hips that had him driving against Castiel's pert ass with hard lewd smacks of flesh against flesh.

Dean angled his hips, thrusting in just _so _hitting that spot once more. Castiel clenched around him, a silent screaming on the angle's lips as he came, cock twitching between their sweat slicked bodies as strings of come splattered against his stomach. Castiel's channel flexed, clamping down on Dean as though to milk him dry, and that was all Dean needed as he came with a broken cry, spilling his own hot seed into Castiel's passage with a final, deep, bone-jarring snap of his hips.

Bones turned to jelly, Dean collapsed onto Castiel, both of them breathing hard, uncaring for the semen that was rubbed into their skin like a soothing balm. Eventually Dean rolled off Castiel, spent cock slipping free. Castiel held onto Dean, hand still clamped on his shoulder. Eventually though his hand slipped from the damp skin, leaving a red impression, testament to his grip.

Dean stretched, supine and sated as he slotted his lips against Castiel's, placing a chaste little blessing upon the red skin. Blue gaze met green as they relaxed, basking in the afterglow.

"Cas" Dean began, fingers threading through the angel's sweat soaked hair, "I miss seeing your wings." Castiel frowned, laying the invisible feathers over Dean's naked body. Sighing, Dean pressed himself against the other warm body, imagining for a moment that he had felt the soft brush of feathers.

"But now, being human…I get to see Sammy when I die." Dean groaned, burrowing his face into the pliant pillow to hide his embarrassment, "I don't want this to turn into a chick-flick moment, but I'm so happy…I thought I would never see him again."

Gently Castiel placed his fingers under Dean's chin, tilting Dean's face up so his summer blue gaze could latch onto and hold Dean's eyes, "and I can't wait to meet him when I find your soul in Heaven. But for now, you'll have to deal with me."

Dean smiled through the tears of joy, coaxing Castiel's lips into a similar curve.

"And that's why I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive." Dean murmured, lost in the thrall of his angel's hypnotic eyes. Because, for the moment, this was Heaven.

**THE END**

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><p>(AN: I hope you enjoyed (and that the ending wasn't too Disney!). I already have another fic brewing so I would really appreciate some constructive criticism so I can make my next story better than this one. Thanks for reading.)


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